Broken Crown
by MartyrsMistress
Summary: When the King loves his Queen, nothing can stop his return to her. Not even death. [Frary]
1. Chapter 1

He walks stealthily through the darkened hallways of his court, the place that seemed so foreign and unknown to him now. Although the plague had died almost as soon as she was born, things changed for him, leaving him out in the wild with his sinful family for the rest of his reign. He hadn't really reigned at all, for his first day as King, he had ridden off to find said sinful family. Although comfortable in a small cottage a few days ride away, just to the east, they had been completely cut off from society, receiving no word on the state of court or of France.

France, herself, had prospered, it was obvious. Plague and famine were followed by great harvests and political miracles, for there hadn't been a hungry man in sight ever since he took the throne. Or, when she took the throne.

He hadn't heard anything about his wife, but figured she'd either stayed at court -still able to be perceived as the lawful Queen- or had gone home, to her birth written throne. If that was the case, then he would give her props for ruling so well, before going to his other country to reclaim what was his.

Their footsteps padded against the cool stone of the flooring, before they turned a corner and came to a darkened doorway. His hand pushed against it, and it obeyed its King, slowly swinging open to reveal the bedchambers of Dowager Queen Catherine de Medici.

The former Queen sat quietly at her desk, mixing liquids together in small containers, muttering to herself, smiling a little, as the fire crackled behind her. She wore dark autumnal clothing, orange hair pinned up, a small black crown nestled into the curls. Her head snapped up as he entered the room, sinful family in towe.

He stood proudly in the doorway, ready for his judgement.

Catherine stood up sharply, her lower stomach hitting against the black wooden table, spilling a few vials. Their eyes instantly connected, neither saying anything.

Moments passed by like hours. Catherine's mouth finally opened -ever so slowly- in a silent scream. As the shock passed, her skin began to pale, looking even more white against the darkness of her clothing.

He stood still, hands knotted behind his back, not saying anything, tilting his chin upwards slowly, ready for his judgement of his actions.

Catherine finally moved, walking slowly over towards him. He lowered his gaze to catch her line of sight -as is she'd ever look away from his azure gaze after years of being depraved of it- not reacting as a shaky hand slowly raised up to meet his cheek.

Catherine's palm touched her eldest sons' cheek, the fingers trembling, the palm sweating as they became antiquated with his auricomous hairline and the curve of his jaw.

Her voice was soft, so soft, as her hazel eyes lined with tears.

"Francis, my son." she whispered. Her resolve gave out and she yanked the King into her arms tightly, never wanting to let him go again. He willingly returned her embrace -just like the last time he had returned from prolonged time away from French Court- not the only one reluctant to let go. As scheming and conniving as she could be, Catherine de Medici always put her children first and had always tried to be a good mother.

Suddenly, she yanked herself from his arms and threw a stiff palm at his cheek, creating a loud 'smack' that echoed through the room.

"How could you do that?! Desert your Kingdom immediately after your fathers' death! You've been gone so long, we thought you were dead!" she cried, the tears sliding down her face. "But, you're alive. My eldest son, my golden child still walks amongst the living." She smiled through the tears, cupping his face. Despite the stinging and the mark of the palm, he smiled softly at her.

"I had to find my child and his mother, mother." he finally spoke. "I couldn't let them die in the plague, if I had the chance to save them."

"Lola, Lola and your child." Catherine trailed off. "Mary told me that she was to give birth to your first child." Catherine stated slowly, watching as the Lady Lola walked into the room, holding the hand of a fair haired, dark blue eyed little boy in blue. Catherine narrowed her eyes at them both, staring down at the small boy.

"Mary." Francis caught her attention again. "Where is she?"

"Mary." Catherine said. Francis furrowed his eyebrows. "You're alive." she said quietly. "Oh, good Lord, this is terrible." Catherine walked away from him, pacing, left set of fingernails entering her mouth.

"What? Mother, what is this?" Francis asked, leading Lola and the small boy to a nearby chair and setting them down, before walking towards his mother, trying to stand in front of her, but she moved away again.

"You were declared dead, Francis." she stated. "The anniversary of your disappearance, you were declared dead, we thought you had died in the plague. Legally dead, your reign and marriage over. The country was told you were dead, so-" she trailed off again.

"So, what?" he prodded. "Mary went back to Scotland? The only logical move since I was thought to be dead." he nodded.

"No, Francis. She didn't." Catherine said quietly, closing her eyes as if in pain. He frowned deeper.

"Why?" he asked. "She wouldn't have had any position here, besides my widow."

Catherine paused, the time passing ever so slowly.

"France isn't ruled by it's King." she finally replied.

"Of course she isn't." Francis frowned. "With Charles still only a boy, you would be the regent." he said, his frown getting deeper.

"No, my child. I am not." she said, sitting down on a chair, resting an arm on a close by table.

"What? Who is?" he asked.

"The deal with the privy council stated that if you did not return in one year of your disappearance, you would be declared dead and the crown would go to your heir. We had a year to wait for a body, or your return. Clearly, we didn't find either of those things. But, we found something else?"

"What? What did you find? Another outburst of plague? Take me to Mary, mother. I'll get the answers I need from her, if you will not directly tell me."

"No!" she cried. "No." she said, softer this time. "Sit, Francis." He obeyed.

"Mother, what happened. Is Mary even alive? Did she make it through the plague?" he asked. It seemed a ridiculous question, but with how uncharacteristically vague his mother was being, anything seemed possible.

"Yes, dear child. She did. But, after the plague and the famine, we were given great news. A light in the dark times." she almost smiled.

Francis silently furrowed his eyebrows.

"My son, Mary announced that she was with child." Francis' stare turned blank. He said nothing, just blinked, clearly not knowing how to react. Mary..with child? His child? Their child? The thought made him smile, but it also unnerved him. If she had his child, where was she? Where was the child?

He hadn't known he had asked those questions until his mother spoke again.

"The child was born healthy, a healthy son." she half smiled, taking his hand in her own. "Francis, your wife had your legitimate son." she said, tears in her eyes, taking in his blank face.

"But, that could mean-" he trailed off.

"With you declared dead, yours and Mary's child was crowned King." she choked. "King James."

"James?" he breathed.

"Yes, James. After Mary's father. James Henry Stuart-Valois. King of France, Duke of Rothsay, Crown Prince of Scotland and England."

"England?"

"Yes. England. When Mary was eight months pregnant, Elizabeth was found out to have an illigitimate pregnancy. So, she was killed. And-" Catherine trailled off.

"Mary was crowned Queen? Queen of England?" he asked.

"Yes, my love. She was. With the power of empire, it is she who rules this land, with you declared dead."

"Mary is regent?"

"Yes, dear son. But, that has to change. You are the lawful King of France!"she smiled, taking his hands.

"Why didn't you say Scotland?"

"Hmm?"

"You didn't say I was the lawful King of Scotland? Mary and I are wed." he asked, confused. Catherine's face fell. He frowned, head spinning. What was happening?

"With you dead, and a healthy heir borne, Mary needed to consolidate her power. She wouldn't have done it if we had known about this, though. You mustn't hold this against her, she was doing what was right, given the circumstances."

"Mother. Stop babbling, you're scaring me. What has Mary done?" he asked.

Catherine sighed, looking down at her skirt.

"Francis," she whispered, still looking down. "Mary, she-" Catherine trailed.

"She?" he asked, impatiently. What could Mary have done?

"Francis, Mary remarried." she said. Looking up, she saw his own face fall and portray the shock he felt in his heart. She watched as it went from shock, horror, disbelief and finally to heartbreak.

"Oh, my darling." she brought him in for an embrace.

"It cannot be! I am still alive! She cannot have taken another as her husband and King!"

"We thought you were dead, and Mary needed another heir in case anything happen to James." Catherine tried to explain.

"I understand the politics, but, mother! My wife is married to another!" he inhaled deeply, pulling back. "When?" he whispered.

"Three months ago." she said quietly, brushing his hair behind his ears.

"To who?" he asked.

"Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley." she finished.

He sniffled, wiping his face. "Where is she? I must make this right. Her marriage must be annauled!"

"They've just returned to French court, for Mary to rule in James' stead. They returned from England two weeks ago. I will bring her to you." Catherine said quietly, leaving her chambers and walking down the hall.

"Francis," Lola began.

"Don't!" he snapped. "All I need is my wife, for her pretence of a marriage to be annulled, and to meet my heir. I need no more." he choked. He stood up and paced for almost an hour, before they saw Catherine pull a reluctant Mary inside by the arm, her golden bardot sleeves shimmering in the candlelight, black tulle skirt dragging behind her.

"Catherine, what did you want me to see? Henry needs me to talk to the Italian ambassador and I have an important meeting with the Duke of Backsla-" she trailed off, instantly locking eyes with the dead man walking, her words silencing.

"Mary, Francis was never dead." Catherine said softly. "As you can see. You know what must be done." she said firmly. Mary gulped, saying nothing, her face chalky white as she stared into the azure eyes of her apparently deceased husband.

"Mary, what are you doing in here? We must go to the Lord David and talk about Italian trade-" A man said, long brown hair and dark grey clothing coming into light, instantly looking at Francis. His own face fell, seeing everything he wanted melt away at the sight of the very alive King of France. He looked down at Mary, before walking away, fast.

"Henry! Henry, wait!" Mary called after her husband, turning and rushing away in his direction, picking up her skirts. "I didn't know! I thought he was dead!"

Henry Stuart walked away, shoulders hunched.

Mary turned back to the fair haired Frenchman who she had grieved for.

"Why didn't you stay dead?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Henry, please! _Wait_!" Mary called, raising her skirts to chase after her husband (was he still her wedded husband and master, she wondered) as he walked through corridor after corridor of the French Court. Said Court now buzzed with the reality of the return of the very alive King of France, not forward thinking enough to think of the drama that now awaited their Queen and her temporary husband.

He said nothing. Just walked faster.

"Henry, stop!" she almost demanded as they reached one of the older parts of the castle, lit only by a few torches on the walls.

He did. He stood with his back facing her, looking at the black door ahead of him.

"Henry, I-" she trailed off, walking towards him. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea." she said, reaching a hand out towards him. "He'd been declared dead, we thought he was never coming back, my son was crowned King. I-I, I'm so sorry, Henry." she apologised, hurt filling her heart.

Their relationship had started out passionate and fiery, something she had always craved in her spouses. And, although their relationship had taken a turn for the worst just before marriage, after they had wed, things had improved. Both coming from families of vipers, keeping each other away from blood relatives had shown each other that there was more to each other than what met the eye. There was more to her to Henry than the attractive, passionate English Lord. Keeping him away from the manipulative Lady Lennox had proved this to her, a bad trait about him showing just before marriage. He was easily manipulated, a little naive to the real world. But, that had changed when they left Scotland and England, spending a few weeks in Ireland before returning to France. He had been loyal and passionate, truthful and proved himself a good man.

The same was shown to him. At first, the Empress was playful and happily immature, before turning into a cold, heartbroken ruler who married him for nothing but political gain. But, after removing themselves from their families and lands of birth, she had shown to be passionate, wild, compassionate and kind. Never mind the fact, she was stunningly beautiful. A true Queen, a devoted mother to James-

James. The little Crown Prince who he had grown so fond of, a brilliant father-figure, step-son bond had formed between them over the last five months. They had grew closer over the duration of the marriage, caring for him and loving him just as much as he did her mother.

But, this? Could either of them survive this?

"I understand the politics, Empress Mary." he suddenly said, adding "But this is so much more than a simple magic trick, popping your true husband back into your life, James' life." he said evenly. "You know better than anybody the world we live in. What we shared is nothing but a lie. Your son may not be the King of France anymore, but he may be the King of Scotland and England soon enough."

"What do you mean?"

"Our marriage is bigamy!" he suddenly cried. Mary jumped, stepping back a pace. "Our consummation -which the Pope and the Vatican know about- nothing but adultery! And if that wasn't bad enough, against a King! One of the leading powers of Europe! No, he's not just a King, he's an emperor now." he chuckled. "It's treason, Mary!" he turned to her. "We could both be -justifiably- executed for this!" his eyes were wide, taking large paces over to his former wife.

"No, we won't." Mary gasped as he gripped her wrists. "He was declared dead by the Pope and the Vatican, we were given permission to wed, they can't do anything to us. We didn't know he was still alive, thousands of people scaled every inch of France and her neighbouring countries, we wouldn't have wed if we knew he was alive." she said. He blinked at her, pain in his eyes, one that matched hers.

The duo had found something together. Spurned by lust, something more had blossomed between the two over the past two months. Although it couldn't be described directly as love, there was something more there.

"What do we do, Mary?" he asked, so quietly, seeming like the sickened young man that Mary knew of just after their union.

"I don't know." she shook her head. "The pope will know soon enough, and we must await his judgement. Annulment, maybe." she shook her head, taking her arms from his grip and turning her back, walking a few paces. "This isn't our fault," she said, not sure who she was trying to convince. "it's his! This is Francis' fault, Henry!" she slowed her steps. "The Vatican can't punish us, it isn't our fault this happened. If he didn't run away like a scared little boy the first day of the plague, none of this would have happened!" Mary ran her fingers through her hair. "This would have been so much better for all of us if he'd just died in the plague." she hissed, turning back. "Him and his mistress and their bastard child," she hissed, starting to realise what she now would have to deal with in her marriage, if one could still call it that. "they should have died," she trailed off.

"It would be simpler." Henry added. She nodded. "But, they didn't. They're alive and well, your marriage to the Emperor valid." he sighed. She nodded silently, looking down.

Two years ago, Mary would never have wished for Francis to be dead. He had been everything to her at one point -second to Scotland, obviously- and she had produced his legitimate heir. Their true family now walked this earth, the product of their love and marriage happily resting in his bedchambers, she remembered.

The Empress tutted at her enamoured past self, the foolish child who believed her husband would never ruin her like this.

"That woman, that woman and the child. Is the boy his? The woman his mother?" Henry asked. The two had never really talked of Lola and her bastard child. Both had been presumed dead, along with Francis.

"She is." Mary sighed. "They're obviously together, don't you think? They seemed awfully close earlier." she chuckled. "Doesn't this sound familiar?" she asked. Henry looked at her. "I am trapped in an unhappy marriage with an unfaithful King who now has a mistress and a bastard child. I'm to turn into Catherine. What a lovely notion." Mary chuckled darkly, tears glittering in her own eyes.

Why didn't he stay dead?! Why couldn't he let her be happy with Henry?! Why couldn't James have been raised by him? Why did he have to grow up with an elder, bastard half sibling, doomed to grow up as Francis himself did, watching his parents' cursed marriage, all but ignored by his father and looking up to his bitter, unloved and neglected mother? Would James turn into Francis? Would this never ending cycle continue? First Henri, then Francis, would James follow in their footsteps?

Henry lead her over to the wall, sitting her down on the cold floor, back resting against the cold stones. He sat at her side. "You won't become her, Mary. I know you too well, you'll be different." he tried to appease, before blurting "What will become of me? Our marriage has to be annulled, seeing as though he's still alive. But, what will become of me? Am I going to be executed or forced to live in scorned exile?" he asked.

"No, you cannot be executed, we didn't do anything wrong. This is Francis' fault this happened, not ours. The marriage must be revoked, it is obvious. I am Empress, I can grant you titles, Duke, I suppose, have you in my privy council, you can still reside in court, but-"

"But not emperor." he said bitterly. "What a grand fall, Emperor Consort to the most powerful woman in the world to a duke in England." he spat.

"I am sorry, Henry. I wish it could be different." she said quietly.

"I know. I don't blame you, but if we just waited, this would be happening."

"It would, our courtship would have been called off. Besides, we had to wed. We consummated our relationship before marriage," Mary looked away. "I could have been having your child."

"You're thankfully not with child, maybe that was the reason. Maybe this happened for a reason."

"Why are you so optimistic?" Mary asked, following it up with "You said yourself what's going to happen."

"What's the point of being unhappy because it's over? I have a reason to smile, because it happened." he tried to smile for her, and her reply was just as strained.

"I am sorry, Henry. I never wanted it to happen like this."

"I know, I know. I didn't either."

"What on earth is wrong with you?!" Catherine yelled, hitting her son over and over. "Why disappear for over a year?! We thought you were dead, James was crowned King, Mary the regent! How could you do that to us?!" she screamed.

Francis did nothing to stop her blows. If she wanted to hit him, he wasn't going to stop her. He knew he deserved it, anyway.

"Before I heard of the plague, Mary told me Lola was going to have my son! I had to go after her, save them from death!"

"You were -are- King! An emperor now! Your father and I taught you you cannot act on feelings or whim!" Catherine screamed. "Isn't that what you told Mary when you were courting?!" she emphasised with a loud smack across his jaw. "We grieved for you! The only thing that stopped Mary, Bash and I from going mad was James!" she shrieked.

The child on Lola's lap started wailing, but Catherine paid him no mind and continued to yell and slap.

"James, where is he?"

"Oh, no. You are not seeing him until we finish this and you explain to me your foolishness!" Catherine yelled. "The first act of your reign, the first moment you had to step up and be King, you ran away! You ran like a scared little boy, a coward!" she yelled. "Why? Why?!" Catherine yelled.

Francis was shocked. He had never seen her so wild, so out of control with her emotions. Never before had he seen her so angry, either.

"Mary told me of my son, and I knew I had to go to him and Lola and protect them! I thought Lola was dead, my child alone in the world!" he paused, now stopping her waving hands. Her rings were sharp on his face. "She survived, but we kept running from the plague until she died out."

"That took three weeks!" Catherine screamed. "You were gone for two years!" she bellowed, trying to get her wrist out of his tight grip.

"It took time to get back, mother! We had ran so far that we ended up in the middle of Italy. My title, nor Lola's, held any wight there. It took time to find work, to not only reside and feed each other, but to gain our fare back to court." he tried to explain

"You're a Medici!" Catherine screeched. "You're just as -if not more than- important there as I am!"

"We were in a tiny village! Nobody knew or cared who we were! We didn't get any news or information about court, about Mary or James or France, until tonight!" he exclaimed. "I didn't know I had been declared dead in the Pope's eyes, nor did we know of James even being conceived, let alone becoming King, mother! I didn't mean for that to happen, I didn't want this to happen!" he almost cried.

It took almost an hour, but eventually Catherine calmed enough to speak rationally to her son.

"You're a foolish boy," Catherine announced. "a foolish, impulsive, sentimental boy." she insulted. "All of court knows of you being alive, no doubt the Pope will know by two mornings time. You must beg at the Pope's feet for forgiveness, and give nothing but support to Mary and Henry."

"Let them be wed? Let them be together? Are you mad, mother?" he asked.

"Of course not, you fool! You must give nothing but support to them, their union must be annulled at once. But, many will say that they deserve to be executed. They married because we thought you died in the plague, but now that you are alive, the union could be perceived as bigamous, the consummated bedding ceremony now adultery against you. They didn't do anything wrong, and you must make any who think otherwise believe it. Your mistakes -yet again- could cost Mary her life." Catherine announced lowly.

Francis said nothing, just tipped his chin up at his mother.

"I will retrieve her from wherever she is. And the two of you must talk of what has happened and where to go from here. You have a child now, you cannot let your marriage repeat what your fathers' and I was." she said, leaving the room.

When she returned, Mary was with her. Eyes red and hair dishevelled, she looked exactly the same to him that she had done two years ago.

Francis said nothing, just looked into the golden depths of her eyes, ready for judgement of his actions.

"Leave, now." Catherine hissed at Lola. She stood up obediently and walked to the door, stopping nervously near Mary.

Mary did nothing. She didn't strike, she didn't cry or scream. She did nothing but stare at her, somehow frightening and unsettling Lola more -with the lack of action- than if she was to yell for the guards and the executioner, announcing her want for Lola's head.

Moments past by like eternities, the two Scotswomen simply staring at each other. Mary seemed to know exactly the effect she was having on Lola. Her gaze was imperious and ice cold, penetrating Lola's skin and soul.

The gaze didn't change, it didn't heat with fire, fury or revulsion. It didn't harden into that of the Italian woman standing near them. It didn't do anything, really. Just stayed as it was, blank, imperious, authoritative.

_And Lola was terrified._

The Lady gulped audibly, chin starting to wobble and her eyes starting to well with tears. She knew she was going to be punished, conceiving with her Queen's husband, then running away with him for two years. She knew it was deserved, knew it was treason, what she had done. She waited for her punishment, but it never came. Only the piercing stare of the betrayed Empress

Catherine seemed to be pleased with this, a large smirk on her lips. Francis stared at the mothers of his sons, as did his own mother, but neither Medici blooded royal did anything to stop Mary or save Lola. The very alive King of France knew this situation reminded her of her own with Diane and Henry, the satisfied grin on her face proving what he thought.

Finally, Lola's mouth opened, a squeak leaving her lips.

This seemed to satisfy Catherine even more. A pleased chuckle left her throat, the low sound almost sensual. She may be enjoying this more than Mary no doubt was, Lola's humiliation, judgement and fear.

Lola tried to speak again, a whimper following this time. The frightened choke cracked in the air, making her take a step back, as if trying to protect herself from the Empress. The fear she felt was abundant as Mary took a step forwards, accentuating the height difference between the two. Mary literally looked down at Lola, who lowered her head in a mix of dread and obedience.

Lola felt like a vulnerable lamb in the gaze of a deadly wolf, so unprotected and terrified for her own life and that of her cub. She was intimidated and frightened, not even trying to hide it from her monarch, who seemed to be satisfied by Lola's fear, for the moment at least.

This small act of subservience broke their eye contact and both pairs of eyes fell on the little fair haired, blue eyed boy who held his mothers' hand. He hadn't made himself noticeable since his cries had ceased the moment his grandmother had stopped striking his father. These two women intimidated even the little boy, auras dangerous and deadly.

However, the little illegitimate child seemed to recognise his step mothers' authority in the room, luckily not making a noise or bursting into tears. She was undoubtedly the most powerful person in the large chambers. He kept his head bent low, not moving or making any sounds. The child didn't quite look scared, but he could identify that this woman was not to be angered or displeased in any way.

A deeper fear made its way into the Scotswoman. She knew what herself and her child meant for their Empress' marriage and future, and knew she knew it too. The domineering scrutiny now directed at the little boy brought further fear into Lola's heart. What did Mary want to do to them? What lengths would she stop at to get her long deserved revenge? Would her son forever face the Empress' hatred and judgement? Would she harm him? Could she harm him? Had the two years changed her that much, that she would harm the child?

The Mary from years ago never would, she didn't even make Lola do penance for her treason, instead helping her and showing her nothing but kindness. This Mary, however, this Mary was different. Cold, cunning, imperial._ Merciless?_

Finally, Lola made a distinguishable whimper. The first perceptible sound since speaking Francis' name hours before. It brought Mary's gaze from her child to her, features sharper and aura deadlier than before.

"Forgive me, your Imperial Majesty." she whimpered. "We will not intrude any longer." she dropped into a low curtsy.

This act of submissiveness and subservience seemed to please both Mary and Catherine, judging by the satisfied snicker that left the Empress' lips and the wolfish smirk that left the Queen Mothers'.

"Leave." Catherine demanded, following them out, closing the door behind them.

This left Francis and Mary alone for the first time in two years. And the silence that passed between them drove a wedge into Francis' heart, convincing him that this was it. His great, terrible fear, the one that he had developed the moment she was declared his bride.

_This was the end of them._


	3. Chapter 3

The King and Queen of France stood silently staring at each other. The only sound that could be heard was the whistling wind outside, the crackling of the fire in the harth and the harsh breaths of the still married couple.

Francis stayed where he stood. He didn't step forwards and gather her into his arms, although he clearly wanted to. All he did was stare at is wife, the Queen of France doing the same. She kept distance between them, a great deal of physical space as if it would make this conversation better for them.

He saw the pain in her eyes, the shock of seeing him alive clear in her eyes, but the hatred and fury of the Empress deterred any emotions that he could turn into positive ones.

Finally, she shook her head at him and sunk down into a near chaise. She pulled up her lace covered feet and tucked them behind the sea of black tulle skirts, reaching for a goblet and filling it with wine. She gulped down the dark red liquid, taking her eyes off him, instead staring at the dancing flames in the harth.

"Mary, I-" Francis started, the minutes of uneasy silence making him choke out the words, but a harsh look stiffed the romantic speech he had planned.

Although she had barely changed in the past two years, things had changed. Her breasts and hips larger from baring their child, waist smaller and generally thinner, clearly attributing to the stress that all her power bought. Her face was thinner, features sharper, than before, cheekbones more prominent and nose thinner. Her hair was still dark, now a dark raven rather than the shiny brunette that he remembered. Those dark orbs almost onyx with a small ring of glittering golden around them, the last remains of the girl she once was.

He left a girl, but here before him sat a woman. A woman he had abandoned and neglected for almost all of their marriage, the child she had carried, borne and raised her only tie of becoming who she was once more.

"Don't speak." Mary finally spoke, her voice soft, still not looking at him.

"I have to. I have to tell you-" he trialled off at another harsh look, features looking sharper than before because of it.

"I don't want to hear anything you have to say to me. Go to the throne room, let your people adore you, then leave me to my fate." she said, voice deceptively light.

"Your fate? What do you mean, Mary? Your fate is right beside me," he tried to lessen the anger, but seemed to only stoke it.

"My fate is undecided because of your foolishness!" She suddenly shot up from the chair, threw down the wine goblet and walked some feet from him. "Your weakness and sentimentality could bring my death!"

"I will travel to Rome, explain why I did what I did, the Pope cannot punish you or Henry," he swallowed down the bile. "you did what you did because I was supposed to be dead. But now-" he walked forwards, a hand extended, as if he was trying to hold her hand. She shook her head, walking further away.

"Do not." Mary demanded. He stilled, but continued to talk.

"Now everything's changed, Mary. I will go to Rome, explain my actions, and ensure you and Henry don't suffer because of it! It was lawful, me being declared dead proved it. But I'm alive, your marriage to him must be annulled and after-"

"What?" she interrupted, glaring at him. "You think I will just come back to you? Play happy families like nothing ever happened between us? Are you that foolish?" Mary asked.

"No, I just meant that-"

"That's what you want. A happy reunion and for me to forget everything that's happened between us." she continued as if he hadn't spoken. "And then introduce you to our child for the first time and play house. Is that it? Or, is it not us you want? Lola and your bastard. Do you want to play family with them? After all, it is the least you could do, if they stay here, people will talk and they will know eventually. You're the father of her child, and all they'll know is scorn and neglect. Is that what you want?"

"Of course not. We've talked of this and-"

"How many things did you talk about in your self made exile? Of me? France? Scotland? Your mother? How many of those things lead her to your bed again?" she asked.

"None! We haven't slept together again, it was just one time, one time that created Jean! You have to believe me!" he said, eyes wide that she wouldn't believe him.

"Of course I don't!" she yelled. "You're telling me there's nothing but that child between you? No connection, no deeper feelings, no deeper connection, no mutual understanding? Please," she paused, tears glittering in her eyes now. "you proved your priorities the moment you placed your unborn, legitimate son and I underneath Lola and your bastard child!" she cried.

"It was an impulsive decision! I know it was wrong but-"

"But, what? You wouldn't have done it again? Don't lie to me, of course you would have done it again. And again, and again. Imagine, the boy who had rammed it down my throat that one cannot act on impulse or whim all through our engagement and marriage, the moment he became King, he ran away from his duties and loyalties and placed them all under a foolish woman and a bastard child." she chuckled, now looking him dead in the eye. "Anything to say to that? Any excuses? Any more lies you wish to spin? No?"

"No." he said, now being the one to look away. "I know what I did was wrong, and my actions after the fact even worse, but if you give me time to explain-" he trailed.

"Explain what? Why you impulsively ran into plague stricken lands as some sort of reckless romantic hero, saving your mistakes from death brought about by it's mother, who had trapped herself out there? Why after the fact, you ran away to Italy to play house with them for two years, and all the while, allowing the pope to declare you dead! Why you abandoned me after your fathers' death, pregnant with your son, legitimate son, nonetheless, left alone to rule France in your stead, all the while gaining three countries! Do you want to explain why you ran from everything that supposedly meant anything to you for years, whilst I birthed your legitimate child! Who, I should add, has no idea who you even are! Your legitimate son thinks you a stranger!" she yelled.

Mary walked away from him, wiping her cheeks, her hands trembling from anger and rage.

"We were given a year for you return, claim your place as King whilst your son remained the heir, or the Pope would declare you dead, your reign and our marriage over! And he did! At five months old, James was King! Everybody grieved for you, now accepting the fact that you were gone and never coming back! Your mother grieved for you! As did I, Bash taking it the hardest, and all that time, all those tears and all that misery, all for nothing!" she yelled. "You come back into our lives and expect everything to be okay again!"

"No, I don't!" he was the one to yell now, turning to her. "I know I did you wrong, and you have every right to hate me for what I've done. And I am so, so sorry for that! No words can express my regret to you, but there is no point dwelling on it! What good will it do?!"

"I want to know what you were thinking! I want to understand what justified doing what you did!" she cried. "I want to know how much they, or how little I, meant to you, for you to justify doing what you did to me and your son!" she yelled, tears rolling down her cheeks. He ached to wipe them away, his feet moving instinctively to get near her.

"No, no!" she cried, backing up. He stopped, watching in agony as her tears grew heavier. "Do not even think of coming any closer!" she sobbed. The anger of the Empress was subdued for the moment, leaving nothing but the pain of the girl. "You've ruined everything we were! Everything we could have been! You left me! You abandoned me whilst I was pregnant, I grieved for you! I grieved for you! I thought you were dead, taken away from me forever, but you were playing house with the woman I thought was my friend and your bastard child!" she cried. "How could you do that to me?!" she sobbed. "What did I do to deserve such pain, such punishment, for you to leave me when I needed you the most?! Not just being a Queen dealing with a plague stricken land, but I was pregnant with your child! I needed you, and you left me!" she sobbed, walking away as if the physical distance could make them both stop crying.

Mary choked back another sob, wiping the tears. "Why would you even sleep with her in the first place?! I know what happened, you had every right to take whoever you want, but why my friend? Out of all the people, why her? Somebody I trusted! And you convinced with her!"

"You didn't tell me!" he yelled. "How could you keep that from me?! You knew Lola was having the baby and you didn't tell me it was mine! Thing's would have been so different if you had!"

"This is not my fault!"

"Why didn't you tell me about the child?!"

"To protect you!" she cried, turning back to him. "Nobody would think you weak and sentimental, because I knew you would want to keep it! The moment that child calls you father, they will! Court will know, and so will France! You'll be diminished in the worlds' eyes, and for what?! A bastard? Think like a King!" she yelled, the furiocity of the ruler now coming out. "I tried to remain loyal to her, knowing the position she'll now always have now! She begged me not to tell you, to try and save herself and her child from a lifetime of scorn and pain, foolish in reflection, but justified at the time! She betrayed me! You betrayed me! Why?!" she screamed.

A knock at the door. Mary sniffled and wiped her eyes.

"Enter." she said.

The Duke of Guise poked his head in. "Apologies your Imperial Majesty, niece," he started. "but the privy council has called a meeting about this new development of the King." he said.

"Court knows he is alive?"

"Yes, they do."

"Very well." she nodded. "I will arrive imminently." she said. The Duke nodded and bowed, but not leaving the room.

"Why is the Duke of Guise here?"

"He protects me." Mary sniffled as her uncle came closer at her side, now seeming so tired. "Go to your chambers, I have to see to them."

"I'm king, Mary. I can take over now."

She looked to her uncle. "Go and wait in the throne room. I shall accompany momentarily," she spoke solemnly. He nodded, bowed, and left.

"No," she suddenly snapped. "for the past two years, I have been dealing with your country, whilst you physically ran from your responsibilities as king whilst your country was in crisis. Left me and your kingdom for your lover and bastard child, one whom she didn't even want you to know about. Leaving me, your wife, alone to deal with your country whilst running mine," she glared. "So, no, Francis. You are not king. That is just your title, but you are not King. You are a little boy who physically ran away from his duties to his nation, so until the pope declares you alive and reinstates our marriage, I am the real King. Go to your bastard, who clearly means more to you than I or your country do, and leave the rulers to rule your country," she glared. He gulped, but couldn't really fault her for her words. Yes, they were hard to hear, but they were true. He had run from his responsibilities and kingdom, and yes he did leave her alone to be king, rule two countries, whilst he did run away to his once lover and bastard child, whom he was never supposed to know about.

"I'm sorry for what I did, and you have every right to hate me for what I've done. I'm sorry that you're angry. I will be in our chambers if you need me, my Queen," he walked away, hearing her do the same, not even glancing back at her.

"Your Majesty," a voice said. Francis looked up from his chair to a young page he had never seen before. His mother sat near him, holding his hand, a regular occurrence since he had returned a week ago. She had always been touchy-feely and a little dramatic, but she had barely left his side ever since he returned, something the young King wasn't used to.

He was King of this domain, but he held no true power. Even though he was alive, legally, he was dead, the undivided power of France falling to Mary. And, until Pope Paul IV came to France and changed the legal documents declaring his death -and Mary's marriage- null and void, that was where it would stay.

"What is it?" Catherine asked, still clinging to Francis' hand, tracing the deigns of his gold signet ring, the only true reminder that the young, golden haired man in extravagant clothes was actually a King. He could dress like one, but he wasn't truly a King. Not until his power, Queen and heir were returned to him.

"Pope Paul IV has arrived at court. His holiness, your Medici relation, refuses to rest or eat, he wishes to conduct the meeting with your Majesties, and their Imperial Majesties as soon as possible." the page answered. He nodded.

"Very well. Send him inside." Francis ordered. He sighed through his nose, looking around the map room. Hardly anything had changed, apart from the papers about British politics.

"His Holiness, Pope Paul IV, come to court!" the herald cried, before the pitter patter of footsteps, and the door opened.

The appropriate, royal greeting between the Medici blooded men and woman was conducted, before the door closed with a quick swear of "I shall retrieve their Imperial Majesties at once, sire" from the young page, before informal greetings took place.

"Son, I you must excuse my surprise at seeing you sitting here, very much alive," the Pope said to Francis. "we had all accepted your gravitation to the almighty heaven." he said.

"Many were surprised at my son's return, your holiness, myself included, however we rely on you to make this right, once and for all." Catherine said, stepping behind her eldest son and placing her small hands on his shoulders. He looked down a little. "You must assist us in helping my son, the Emperor, regain his power and throne, including his wife." Catherine finished.

"Of course, daughter. I must admit, I have never seen a situation like this before, nor do I believe I will again. However, both men have legitimate claims to their marriage to the Empress, and should the Empress' marriage to the Emperor be annulled, I fear most will call for her head, for her marriage could be perceived as bigamy, her necessary consummation adultery."

"Your Holiness, I was declared dead. Their marriage was made out of political necessity, however I cannot condone this facade of a marriage to go on any longer. Legally, she is still my wife, there cannot be any evidence suggesting otherwise." Francis declared, fidgeting with his fingers and raising his chin a little. He was clearly uncomfortable with the situation, and after no doubt having to explain it to the Pope, the entire world will know of his foolishness on the first day of his reign. He would be reduced on the worlds' stage, and couldn't bare the thought of any probable attacks on his country from Kings who thought him weak.

Not to mention, his wife still hadn't looked at him ever since their conversation days previous. And, because she held the power, she had hidden her son from him, no doubt wishing to inflict the pain and betrayal she felt when he ran away from her and their kingdom when they needed him the most.

"What I cannot understand is how you managed to be declared dead, when it is so obvious that you still walk along the living." he said, tilting his chin up.

"In the temporary banishment I sustained years ago, when my late father was attempting to marry the Empress to my bastard brother Sebastian, I lay with the Lady Lola and placed a boy child within her." his cheeks reddened a little, and his head bowed upon the sharp glare given to him by his mother. "For months, she kept the child a secret from me, not wishing to impune herself into my marriage or cause it to crack. However, when my son was born, the plague had just started and the Lady Lola found herself trapped in plague stricken lands. She sent word that she was going to die and wished her babe to be saved, and impulsively, I rushed from the safety of the castle walls to her side." he lowered his head again. "I knew it was wrong almost immediately after finding the Lady Lola and my son, I knew I should have remained at court with my wife, who at the time was pregnant with my heir," he gulped. "But, I couldn't leave them to their demise. So, we ran from the plague as she swept through the small village Lola had found herself in." he paused, taking a breath, squirming uncomfortably underneath the hard Medici gases. "We ran from the plague, ran so far that we ended up in the middle to east side of Italy. It took a great amount of time to earn our fare home, leading to the time limit that the Vatican placed on my wife. I am told she was given one year to find me -have me return home- or I would be legally declared dead from the plague, my body burned. And, just before it passed, she gave birth to my legitimate heir." his head lowered further, eyes drooping to the floor. "I know in heinsight it was wrong, but I didn't know that I would be declared gone from this world, giving my wife every permission and warrant to take another as her husband." he said the last word as if it pained him, looking up at his distant relation. "She had no reason to wait to make sure I was never coming back, I am sure Mary, my mother and my line had accepted my death by then." he nodded. "And, she did. The Empress waited the obligated mourning time -seven months- before finding a suitable match after my son reached his fourteenth month. And, three months later, here we are." he finished.

"And, the Empress. What do you wish the outcome of this consultation to be? The Vatican may take your viewpoints into account." the Medici blooded Pope asked, sitting back at the young King's tale.

"It cannot be legally bigamy and adultery, I was considered dead, father." he said. "I do not wish for her or Henry Stuart to be harmed in this matter, they are innocents, the only ones who are not are the Lady Lola and myself. All I wish is for my wife's new marriage to be annulled, all records of it removed, and to raise my son with her." Francis finished.

"You wish to prevent executions?"

"Of course. Neither did anything wrong, given the circumstances." Francis said, hating the situation, but it was true. As much as he resented Henry, he couldn't blame him for this, nobody could. This wasn't their fault, only his.

A knock at the door, before the young page popped his head back in.

"Your holiness, your Majesties?" he asked.

"Yes, what is it, child?"

"His Imperial Majesty has arrived for his judgement of the situation." the page bowed, opening the door for Henry Stuart to walk in.

Henry Stuart wasn't a sight for sore eyes at all. Long black curls, bright green eyes and a well kept beard decorated skin coloured light olive. A strong jawline and a manly face was sharp and drawn as he made his way into the room. He was donned in dark brown leather trousers, black leather knee high boots, a white tunic, a brown and gold waistcoat underneath an extravagant green silk doublet with black and gold embroidery. A sleeveless coat of brown fur fell from her shoulders, rings glittering on his fingers. A silver livery collar rested on his shoulders, a brown and black scabbard over his right shoulder, a long silver blade with a black glass hilt poking out of the black and silver holster. And, on his head, was the consort crown of Scotland, glittering in all it's gold and onyx glory, the very crown he -Francis himself- used to wear.

Francis couldn't help but glare at his new rival, but this time, the rival was for no throne. It was simply for a powerful empress who was stuck between two handsome Kings.

He also couldn't help but notice the fact that his mother smiled at the young man as he entered the room, so obviously seeing him as a son-in-law type of figure, caring for him as she cared about her own onetime rival whom she now both respected and admired.

Francis shot his mother a glance, but she paid him no mind, staring at the young Englishman who was well on his way of capturing the Empress' heart, just as he had her hand. Subconsciously, his fist balled up, anger towards the man both justified and unjustified.

"Your Holiness," he announced in a loud, proud voice. Even his aura oozed confidence, but it didn't border on arrogance. He knew he was going to loose everything he had so recently gained and would live out the rest of his life in exile, but his marriage hadn't been annulled just yet, he still held the world at his fingertips. "I hope I didn't disturb at an inopportune time." he finished.

"Not at all, son. Sit. We have much to discuss about yourself and the Empress, as well as the King." the Pope replied, sparing Francis a glance as Henry sat down at the long table. The fair haired King stared holes into Darnley's head, who looked to the Pope to start this long, painful conversation.

Catherine looked at the door expectantly, awaiting it to open and to catch sight of the regent of France, but glanced at the young Englishman as he sat across from her when the door opened no more. Like Francis, Mary had completely shut her out and refused to speak to her when it wasn't necessary, and Catherine found herself missing the younger Queen's company, a surprising contrast from their feelings for each other but three years ago.

So much had changed, in so little time.

"Tell me, Henry," she started. "where is the Empress? This concerns her, too." The Queen Grandmother of France said, taking quick eyefuls of the door, then to the Emperor Consort, left to right in quick succession.

"Mary?" Henry asked. "Why, she's seeing to her new rival. Making sure she doesn't cause animosity for the next few years." Henry announced, making his own rival look over at him. Henry looked back at the very alive King of France, and the very alive King could see the resentment and dislike in those green eyes that looked suspiciously similar to Bash's. He knew the same resonated in his own azure orbs, watching him carefully.

"Her rival?" Catherine frowned. "Mary has none. Queen Elizabeth is dead, her only rival is dead." the Queen Grandmother of France said, cocking her head to the side, unable to help remembering the now -without question- dead Henry and his own vague comments.

"Elizabeth? No." he said. "Their rivalry died along with my distant cousin. However, new new rival will cause problems that have no relation to me." he replied.

"Who is it? Some noble who wants her dead because my son is not?" Catherine asked, standing up and placing her hands on her sons' shoulders. Francis was still silent, staring at his son's still stepfather, waiting on confirmation of this vague clue.

"No, Queen Grandmother. Not at all. Her new rival is the mother of her son's half brother, the Lady Lola. She's with her right now, your highness. Alone in the royal chambers."


	4. Chapter 4

"When Francis returned from Paris, you were at his side." Mary said slowly, her face falling more and more, deeper with every word. Lola sniffled on the makeshift bed, tears steadily streaming down her face. She said nothing, her face pale.

She didn't need to say anything.

"Is that my husbands' child?" Mary demanded, her voice not angry, but devastated.

"Yes." Lola barely managed, breaking off into sobs, burying her face into her hands, tears streaming down onto the covers.

A similar sob threatened to choke the Lady as she stared into the mirror. What was she? Was she doomed to be the mother of the Kings' bastard all her life? Would she be married off to keep her silence on the subject, even though more and more courtiers figured out their secret by day? Within the month, word would spread to the Flemming's back home, then who would she be? They would disown her, her name was going to be more notorious than ever. They would have no choice, never wanting to disobey or anger their Queen. Where would that leave her? One mistake, one night, could -would- ruin her life. A disowned, penniless widow, forced to rely on Francis for the rest of her life?

Would people see her as his mistress?

Would Mary see her as his mistress?

There were no two ways around it. The now Empress terrified her now more than ever. Would she marry her off to some arrogant, young lord? Would she cast her aside to starve on the streets? Or, would she simply kill her? After all, sleeping with Francis and producing his bastard was high treason, one that was so obvious and so justified.

The look in her eye when their gases met, however, the look told her she was to experience something far worse than death, even more than being married off to somebody who she couldn't stand the sight of. Nostradamus may have been a seer, but Lola's fate was clear.

The Mary from years ago would do no such thing, but she had changed so much Lola didn't know what to expect. Mary held everything now. More power, a strong, male heir and five countries to do with as she will. Plus, those eyes, that imperious gaze that left nothing to the imagination.

So different.

So, so different.

"How could you?!" Mary cried. "You knew I loved him! You knew I didn't let him go because of feeling, emotions! You know about the prophecy!"

"It was a mistake! You were engaged to Bash!"

"And that makes it okay for you to sleep with the man I love and get pregnant?! No, it does not! How could you do this to me?!" she screamed. Lola was thankful they weren't at court, just in a simple snow covered woodland area whilst Bash went to check if the cost was clear in the blood wood.

"I didn't mean to hurt you! I had lost so much, and Francis was there. I-I tried to tell him it wasn't right, but he convinced me it was, that you weren't part of his life anymore and-"

"Don't you dare try and justify it!" Mary yelled. "Do you have any idea what this means?! You're having my husbands' bastard child! Before I conceived his heir! Do you know what that sounds like?!" she cried.

"We are not them!" Lola cried. "I am not Diane, you are not Catherine! Francis is not his father! I didn't mean to hurt you! It just happened!"

"Things like this!-" she cut herself off, pointing at Lola's abdomen. "do not just happen! It was a choice! You made the choice to sleep with him! You made the choice to get pregnant!"

"I didn't mean to get pregnant! It was just one time! One night!" Lola sobbed. "One night and nobody would have known!"

"Is that supposed to make it better?! That it was just once, that it only took once to get pregnant with his bastard?!" Mary yelled. "Oh, you didn't mean to hurt me, you didn't mean to get pregnant! Oh, that makes it all okay. I'll just forgive and forget that you betrayed me because you didn't mean to!" she screamed.

"Please, Mary, please understand that-"

"Understand? Understand?!" she shrieked. "How dare you ask empathy of me! I treated you like a sister, I tried to help your lover who tried to rape me! I accepted your verbal tirade against me the first night at court and I have helped you every step of the way, and you do this?! You ask empathy of me?!"

"I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry!" Lola sobbed.

"Like that makes it okay!" Mary laughed, hands trembling having nothing to do with the snow and the coldness.

She swallowed. Mary did. They had lined up suitor after suitor, but it had been proved fruitless.

"Lola!" Mary hissed. "You cannot push men away like this, time is ticking! I cannot protect you and your secret for much longer. I will not," she glared.

"Please, just one more. One more try, and I promise that I'll marry him, and nobody will know that the child I carry is not his. Please. One more suitor, Mary. I beg of you."

Reluctant, slow footsteps. The woman in green slowly nodded to the tall, blonde woman in white, the woman who was so obviously Mary's pager.

"Can I speak to her Imperial Majesty? The Earl of Moray sent word that she wished to speak with me." Lola said, voice so quiet. The tall blonde gave her a long look, before giving her a once over, before nodding once.

"Wait here, my lady." she said, voice not kind nor unkind, but Lola could clearly make out the teetering venom in the woman's voice.

"Your Imperial Majesty," the blonde said, opening the door after four knocks.

"What is it?" even Mary's voice sounded different. More pronounced, more regal and far more superior than the last time she'd heard it, all those years ago.

"The Lady Lola, your Imperial Majesty. She wishes to speak with you."

A long pause.

"I suppose the day of judgement has come," she humorlessly chuckled. "Let the Lady in," Mary said, but Lola could hear the distain clear. She gulped audibly, biting her lip as the blonde permitted her entry.

Once inside, Lola jumped as the door closed loudly. Slowly turning to face Mary, Lola inhaled deeply at the vision of grace in front of her.

Mary stood with her back to her, her figure illuminated by the sun present in the large, open window of the balcony. Her cream and golden ball gown brushed backwards with the wind, Lola could see her hair brush gently back against her bare shoulders, a tall crown on her head.

A silent reminded of who was actually in control here. Of who literally wore the crown. Of who would always be in control.

Mary said nothing for many minutes, just looked over at the French countryside as it showed itself to it's Queen in all it's late Spring golden glory.

"Why have you come?" Mary asked, her tone not kind nor unkind.

"You asked for me, your Majesty?" Lola said quietly.

"I did no such thing. My bastard brother requests that you speak with me,"

"I will go if it pleases you, Majesty." Lola almost whimpered at the sound of her soft chuckle. Mary had almost always produced melodic laughs, but this was different. A regal, cold, humourless laugh that almost mocked her very existence.

"No. I wish for you to stay. I suppose today is the day for judgement, is it not? For all of us?" again, that chuckle.

"If you wish it to be, my Qu-"

"Empress." Mary interrupted sharply, not entirely turning her face to look at her. "I am an Empress. I am still an Empress." this tone was sharp and piercing, but it held undertones of the fear even Mary felt. This day could not only bring Lola's head from her shoulders, but Mary's also. However, the fear couldn't be detected by the sinned woman. But, she could distinguish the fact that she tried to convince both her and herself that she still held an Empire at her fingertips. As if the title could save her from her husbands' mistakes.

"Of course. Forgive me, your Imperial Majesty. You are and always will be an Empress." Lola replied.

"How long have you been gone for?" Mary asked. "Do you know?" she finished.

"Two years, my Empress." Lola said, ever so quietly. "I have been gone for two years."

"Two years, three months, one week and four days." Mary corrected. "Eight hundred and thirty two days, you have been gone. For eight hundred and thirty eight days, you have been playing house with my husband and your bastard son. Why?"

"Why, your Imperial Majesty?"

"Why? Why did you do it, Lola?" Mary asked quietly. "Give me an honest answer. I deserve that." she said, the anger, venom and superiority now gone. It seemed like the old Mary, but Lola had been at court again long enough to know that the Queen Regent of France was like a viper. She could strike and lash out at any time. The bruises on Kenna, Greer and any servants who stepped out of line proved it.

"I left with him because my son and I had nowhere else to go. The house I was residing in with my husband burned down, my husband dead with it. And,-"

"Do not lie to me. I know about the fiasco. You married a man who wasn't who he said he was." Mary replied, now in monotone. Somehow, that frightened Lola more than if she had drawn a blade to her. Not what she said, how she said it. "The actual Lord is dead, Remy roaming the lands. He was captured and confessed to everything. He now lives in Wales with his actual wife." Mary finished. She heard Lola breathe in deeply. "Now, you have one final chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth." she hissed.

"I had found out about my husbands' betrayal and we pretended he'd died to stop the real lord Julian's family finding out about Remy's betrayal. And, I tried to return to court, like I know I should have, but I went into labour and-" she trialled off.

"And?"

"and the woman I was with told me that I was do die. That I wasn't going to survive, nor the baby. I know if we had both died, it would have been simpler, better, for all of us." Lola trailed off.

"Yes, it would have been." she answered, a little slowly. "I and many others will forever wonder what life would be like if you were dead. Actually, truly, dead." she finished.

Lola silenced, looking down at the flooring, her hands knotted together.

"Tell me, Lady Lola, tell my why you ran away with my husband for over two years." Mary said, stoically. She still hadn't turned around, choosing to stare out into the French countryside as it danced in the wind in a routine all of it's own making, her Queen Regent observing every minuscule movement.

"I swear to you, your Imperial Majesty, I had no intention of doing that. I sent word to you the day after Henry's death in a last ditch effort to save the life of my son. He is innocent, I pray that you acknowledge that. I left with Francis after he came for us, simply due to the fact one of the present boys we were with showed signs of the illness. Neither of us wished to expose him to the illness, so we ran. We ran so far from the plague that we couldn't return. It only took so long because Francis had to find employment and a roof over our heads before we could earn our share back again. And, now, here we are." Lola finished, her voice not quite as strong as she would have liked. It wavered in the presence of this ominous, intimidating siren that could quite easily take her life from her.

"He made the wrong choice that day, I hope you know that." Mary's voice was calm, bordering on emotionless. The words stung worse than Lola thought they would, but even she couldn't deny the truth underlying in those dozen words. In reflection, knowing all the harm and controversy one choice -two choices- made, Francis coming to the rescue like some foolish, Romanic martyr was the worst decision he could have made. It had -and still could- cost him everything.

"Many others feel the same way, I am sure." she said softly.

Then, Mary turned to face her. Wordlessly, she maneuvered herself from the balcony and stared at the woman who had betrayed her in the worst possible way.

"Tell me, those months, did you sleep with him?" she asked, anger cleverly disguised as a tone that Lola couldn't quite distinguish. "You've been gone for years, any trust I once held for the two of you long dead. It wouldn't surprise me." Mary shrugged a shoulder a little.

"No, no!" Lola almost cried. "The only time Francis and I were intimate was that night in Paris! I didn't do it again, I couldn't!" she spoke louder than intended, but her words held little comfort to her Empress. They didn't seem to have any positive effect at all. Lola was certain Mary didn't believe her. But, why would she?

"One part of me aches to believe you, but the other can see through your lie as one can see through a veil." Mary chuckled, a cold, humourless chuckle. "You may not have shared his body in those two years, but the man has a hard time understanding the words fidelity and monogamy. If you didn't sleep with him. Who did?"

"Maybe a few women on a few drunken nights, but he is devoted to you." Lola tried to explain.

"If he spent money on alcohol that should have been used to make him be a king again, he couldn't have wanted to come back to me again." Mary laughed. "Even if you didn't to it, you cannot tell me that there is no deeper connection between you, no mutual understanding or agreement?" Mary asked.

"I will admit, he and I share a mutual understanding as parents, but-" Lola cut herself off as Mary scoffed, starting to pace the royal chambers. "I swear to you, nothing more. If I could take back that night, I would! My son would be Julian's, this wouldn't have happened and you would be happy!"

"Happy? Please," Mary chuckled. "Happiness is the one thing that Queen's, Empress's, can never have. As a woman who's actions have changed the courses of nations, you should know that!" Mary replied.

A few moments of silence passed.

"That night, like it or not, you changed the course of an empire. By choosing to whore yourself out for a few moments of relief, you destroyed so many and so much!" she finally yelled. "You betrayed me! You betrayed me, you whore! What on earth were you thinking!" she yelled. "That's not even the worst of it! You got pregnant with my husband's bastard! You and he will know nothing but lives of scorn and neglect because of one night of foolishness and pathetic intimacy!" Mary yelled. "You had a choice! A choice to respect me and yourself! But no, you took advantage of his pain and weakness and whored yourself out for a few moments of relief!" she yelled. Mary noticed tears slipping down Lola's face, it gave her savage pleasure to watch it. "Was it forth it? Those few moments of repulsive ecstacy, was it worth it?! The moment your bastard calls Francis his father, the world will know and you will be imprisoned in a cage of your own making!" Mary finally screamed. "You will be labelled his whore, which honestly isn't too far off the mark, you will know nothing but scorn and neglect and you deserve it! Imagine my humiliation to know that my husband slept with my friend, my lady, and got her pregnant! If I hadn't had James I would have been the laughing stock of Europe! Because of you! Because of your betrayal!" she screamed.

The Empress paced a few times, before swiping a glass vase off one of the mantle piece, watching as it collapsed in smithies.

"Treasonous whore!" Mary suddenly screamed. "You think that night was just friendship betrayal?! It is treason! I could have your head for this! Trust me, it is tempting!" Mary yelled. "You think because he and I weren't together at the time, it makes it okay?! No, it does not! You foolish harlot, you coukd have ruined everything! If I hadn't had a son, you could have cost me my life! I could have been executed! Do you not undersand that?! You could have ruined me!" Mary screamed. "How could you?! I trusted you! I trusted you both! And you do that to me?! Why? Why?!" Mary screamed. "I gave everything to you! I tried to save your lover who tried to assault me! I protected you! I kept your secret from my husband! I tried to find you a match to give you a chance at life! You threw all that away, Lola! My love, my trust, your future, all for a night of pitiful, repulsive and sickening few moments of empty ecstacy!" Mary yelled. "You've betrayed me time and time again! With Collen, with Francis, with Bash! What is wrong with you, harlot?! Is it that hard to be loyal? No, you don't understand that word, always so quick to point out faults in others but cannot admit own sins! Always so sweet and innocent, oh poor little Lola! And every single time, you betray my love and my trust! Time and again! When everybody wanted you dead, it was my who kept you alive! When you had nothing, I gave you everything! Is this how you repay my love?! 'oh Francis, I want to'" Mary mocked, tears of velvet anger in her eyes. "'Mary is no longer a part of my life'" she mocked again. "What about now?! Huh?! Do you want him now? Am I part of your life now? Of course I am, you've destroyed mine! You ran away with him for over two years, making everybody believe he was dead! Because of the two of you, my son doesn't know his own father! I remarried thinking my husband was dead, but he was playing happy families with my former friend! I remarried to save my country! Because of your foolishness, your weakness, your sentimentality, I could be executed! How dare you do this to me! My son! I should take your head and make you suffer like you made me!" Mary screamed, pacing around like a madwoman.

All this time, Lola had been sobbing into her own hands. But, Mary finally came towards her and ripped her hands away from her reddening face

"I am humiliated in my own home, and you stand by and say nothing," Mary spat. Lola gulped. "I face what could be my downfall brought about by you and you stand by and say nothing!"

"I'm so sorry." was all she said, sobbing and choking the words out. Mary laughed.

"Sorry? You're sorry?" she mocked. "Will sorry allow me to keep my head? Will sorry stop my country from turning on me? Will sorry stop John Knox from destroying me? But you're sorry. That makes it all okay," she laughed. Lola winced as if she'd hit her.

"I know our situation is painful," she started. "but if I could go back and change that night, I would. But, I can't. All I can do is apologize." Lola cried.

"Why didn't you leave? We both know that's what you wanted." she said coldly.

"I tried to go to the Netherlands with my son, Francis' cousin was going to take us both. But, Francis couldn't." Lola choked.

"So now, I get to experience the pain and anguish. That's such a noble gesture." she mocked. "Of all the people you could have had comfort from that night, did it have to be Francis? Did he have to sleep with you?" she spat. "Did you have to jeopardize my throne? My life? My son's life? For a moment of comfort and a bastard child?" she spat. "I hope that child makes you happy. I hope your happy with your position as his mistress, now. Because if I cannot undo your mistakes, I will loose my throne and my head."

"Mary, I-" she stopped when Mary narrowed her eyes at her. Lola gulped audibly. It was like the was seeing an incarnation of Catherine. "Your majesty, if i could soften the blow and make this situation any less painful and stressful for you, please tell me how to do so. If not, i will gladly stay out of your way," she curtseyed, before trying to say more, but she was cut off.

"Words cannot describe how much I wish you dead right now, and I could even bring it by my own hand! It is so, so tempting. But you, you treasonous whore, you will know that there are some fates far worse than death."


	5. Chapter 5

Some days had passed. The Empress sat in the King of France's nursery, the young child on her lap silently suckling against her breast. James had been labelled 'the sweetest, most perfect child in court' over his eighteen months of life, a moniker that Mary herself once held when she was a child. He reached for his mothers' hand, looking up at her, dark eyes big. Mary had a lot to think about, absentmindedly brushing her fingers against the silky raven strands of her son's hair as she stared into nothing, trying to figure out where to go from here.

Her marriage to Henry was well on it's way to being annulled, for annulment was no easy feat to attain, even with Emperors and Empresses doing the asking. The Vatican representatives were doing everything they could, the Medici Pope granting her his protection from the worst possible punishment due to the fact her son held Medici blood. Mary knew that would be enough to protect her from death, and as long as they did it quietly, their names wouldn't be slandered in the public eye. But, the Empress was well aware that it wouldn't be enough to salvage her legal marriage.

Where did she and Francis stand? It had been a fortnight since his return, their loud points then were clear, but what would happen now? Would they always fight about the abandonment and betrayal she suffered? Would they always argue because of Lola and her bastard? How could they move on from this? Could they even move on from this? Or, would they simply physically separate to lead separate lives? Could she simply leave France and go to England or Scotland? Would he stay here and raise his bastard, only seeing his wife and legitimate heir until Mary got pregnant again?

As much as she hated to admit it, Mary didn't want to live like that. The Empress could clearly remember what Henry and Catherine's marriage was, and loathed to repeat it with her own Valois blooded husband. She knew all too well the effect it had on Catherine and Henry's children, their oldest, specifically. As children and adults, the duo spent many nights huddled together as they bonded over the lack of parentage they had both received, and swore to each other to be different when their time came. But now it had, she didn't know what to do about it.

She didn't want to live how Catherine had lived. With a husband who has mistresses and bastard children littered all over the country. She didn't want to feel court's neglect and scorn when she wasn't with child and a mistress was. Most of all, she didn't want to see the personification of betrayal every time she stepped into her court. Mary would never admit it aloud, but she was afraid. She didn't want to do this anymore, simply wishing for things to go back to how they were. It sounded harsh, but she wished for Francis to actually be gone forever.

It would so so much simpler. Although James would never know the father who sired him, he'd have a father figure to raise him, a country at his fingertips and an empire in his future. James would be raised right, with plenty of legitimate half brothers and sisters who he could protect and love, and he'd turn out to be a good man. Mary and Henry would raise him to be loyal to his betrothed, never to stray from her, to be a good King and put his people first, always.

Now, she didn't know how his life would turn out.

Would he grow to resent his father for siring a bastard son? Even at the tender age of almost nineteen months, James was incredibly perceptive and protective of his mother. He wouldn't let Henry near her until he'd figured out Darnley's character, and clearly wouldn't trust some courtiers who could do his mother wrong. Even as a newborn, he refused to take to the wet nurse and refused to sleep wherever his mother wasn't at. He somehow could sense those who his mother didn't like or trust, never fully trusting them in return. What would he do when Francis was finally introduced?

Would he cry the first time his father held him? Would he sense his mothers' distress at seeing her still lawful husband, not letting him in? Whilst he trusted Bash and James completely, what would he do when in the presence of Francis' bastard son? Would he scream and cry? Would he grow to resent and hate him? Would he train any -god forbid- brothers and sisters he had to do the same? Simply because his mother didn't want him at court? For every bodies sakes, he and his half brother could never meet, it was simply too risky.

A knock at the door. Mary looked up as she page came into the room, the tall blonde, Anna.

"Forgive me, your Imperial Majesty," she said as Mary slid a blanket over James. "but the Queen Grandmother wishes to speak with you." she said. Mary nodded.

"Let her in," Mary replied.

Moments later, Catherine de Medici, Queen Grandmother of France strode in, looking as regal as ever in purple and red.

"Mary," she said, lowering her eyes a little. "how are you feeling, my dear?" she asked. Mary sighed.

Ever since the physicians told them that James was coming into the world, Catherine had been so much kinder to her, and it had only increased when he was born two winters ago. She had shown her how to parent her child even when both had been deep in grief over Francis' alleged death, assisted her in ruling after being declared the Regent. But, would she still be the same now? Her golden child was alive and well now, the lawful King ready to rule, would she transform into the Catherine that made Mary's life difficult?

"I don't know." Mary sighed after a few moments. "I don't know how to feel." she finished.

"Relived? Angry?" Catherine guessed, pulling the blanket back to smile at the little boy who had gotten them through so much over his lifetime.

"Both, I suppose." she sighed. "I'm furious at him, for having a child with the woman who was once my friend. I hate him for leaving me, us," she glanced at her son. Catherine nodded. "I'm furious that he let us grieve for him whilst he played families with her and their bastard, I'm angry that he even slept with her in the first place. Foolish boy." Mary couldn't help but let out. "I hate him for causing so much controversy in politics, for letting us get ourselves in such a mess with Darnley being dragged into it. Either one of us could be assassinated, Pope's support and protection or not. I hate that he comes back and get's everything back, whilst I have to suffer. I will spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder for a blade or a gun, I will live the rest of my life never trusting him fully. And, I don't want to live like that," she said, her voice softening towards the end. Then, she started to cry. Not the angry tears like before, but tears of sadness and pain, ones that hadn't made appearances in over a year.

"I know, dear child." Catherine wrapped her arms around her, kissing her head. "It's going to be hard, but I trust you both can get through it. The bond you two have is too strong to let anybody go through it." Catherine pulled back. "You must not let Lola between you, alright? Don't let their indiscretion and mistakes ruin you and your reign. You must be better than that." her voice was now serious. "You must not let this precious boy's life be tainted or altered by what they did. You cannot let that happen." she placed a hand on James' head.

"I know, I just don't know how," Mary shook her head. "I don't want to talk of Darnley or Francis or what life will be like after the fact. I just wish to be with him," she looked down at her son, covering herself up and rubbing his back once he stopped suckling. "No thrones, no empires, just him and I against the world." she tried to smile, sitting him straight on her lap. James' hands found her rings and played with them as his mother talked to his grandmother, relaxing into the warm lace and silk of the cream gown she wore.

"Every mother feels the same," Catherine couldn't help but smile at their interaction. "I spoke with Francis," she said.

"Oh?" Mary asked, drinking water from a nearby goblet. "What did he say?"

"He and Lola never slept together after the conception." Mary rolled her eyes. "I know, I don't believe it, either. She told him of your confrontation a few days ago, and neither can fault you. I'm told you didn't insult her, just told the truth?"

"What else could I do?" Mary asked. "She betrayed me. I couldn't act like an angry girl, but like an Empress." she replied.

Catherine nodded. "They want to know what you plan to do after the annulment. If you're going to punish them publicly for their act, you are still the regent. Francis' power isn't yet returned to him yet. Your son is still the King."

"Part of me lusts to drip Lola's blood, to take her head and hold it on a spike for all to see, but I cannot act like an immature, impulsive girl. I must act like an Empress. She'll most likely be sold off to the highest bidder, far away from court, to nobody of true power, if I get my way. But, it may not happen in time for Francis to be unable to intervene. I have a feeling he wishes to claim his son, something that I simply cannot let happen."

"Why not?"

"James." was the only word for a few moments. "You know how protective and perceptive he is, one day he'll be King, Emperor. The bastard son will be his subject, and if he grows up resenting him for hurting him, who knows what he'll do to him." Mary sighed. "He's already starting to understand, aren't you?" she couldn't help but smile down at him once he looked up at her, giving her a cheeky grin. "He refuses to settle in any room I'm told Francis' son has been in. I'm sure one of them placed him in a crib in one of the chambers in the east wing, James won't settle in it, even if we wash and change the sheets. He still knows. Only God knows what he'll do to him if he grows up with him." Mary sighed.

"You wish to protect their son?" Catherine asked, clearly surprised.

"I cannot blame him for his conception, I blame Francis and Lola for that. He cannot help being illegitimate born, it isn't his fault that he's the cause of so much controversy. The only way to protect him is if he's sent away, claimed by another, never to know who he actually is." Mary sighed. "Whether I like it or not, that child is still my subject and I have a duty to protect all of my subjects."

"You're a better woman than me, Mary." Catherine let slip. "I treated Bash with so much scorn and neglect as he grew up."

"I wouldn't say that," Mary tried to appease. "You cared for your children, disliking to see the result of Diane and Henry's affair running around, I can't blame you for that."

"I never tried to protect him like you're trying to protect Francis' son." Catherine shook her head. "Now, there is no more time for a trip to memory lane. We both know my son, what will you do if he claims the child?"

"I will leave him." Mary replied without blinking. "It will be the last straw between him and I. No matter how much I loved him in the past, if he claims the child, gives France an ulterior claim to that of my sons, he will ruin our marriage. I will leave and I have every right to take James with me. He will never meet him, if he claims that child." a few moments passed. "He will ruin every bodies lives if that child is claimed, Catherine. Lola will be trapped here, thought of as the King's mistress. He will be trapped here. I will be hurt by it, James will quickly figure it out, and he will punish him for hurting me. Who knows that he'll do to him when he's King." Mary sighed. "It may please Francis to claim the child, but it will ruin everybody else." she finished.

"I will be honest with you, now. Alright?" Mary nodded once. "If I was still the woman I was, wishing to hurt you at every given moment, wishing to please my son at every possible chance, I would have told him to claim that child as his own. It would make him happy, if you didn't have James, it may have been his only chance to be a father." Mary looked down. "I say this not to hurt you, Mary." she looked back up. "Everything has changed now."

"Do you think he should claim him?" she asked, suddenly feeling like a five year old child again.

"I can see why he should and why he shouldn't." was the only thing that Catherine said. "But, I do think you should talk to him, civically. You both had your chance to scream and yell the night he returned, but that time has passed now. You owe it to him," Catherine nodded to the child. "to be civil to each other, at least. You don't have to be the couple you once were, but you have to be civil for him."

"I know," Mary sighed. "I know I should. I just don't know if i'm ready."

"You have to be, Mary. I will send for him. It is better for everybody if you get this meeting over with, sooner, rather than later. It gives us time to see where we can go from here before you're expected to be seen with him."

"Very well. Send for my husband."

_"Kiss me," Francis grinned, twirling his bride around once more, bringing her close. She beamed back at him, her smile brighter than the sun that shone through the stained glass windows. Giggling, her hands threaded through his hair, bringing their lips together in an unbreakable lock, listening to all the laughter and music, feeling the feathers and petals fall down from the ceiling, but focusing on the feel of her husbands' lips against her._

_Together, they would be unstoppable._

"Mary?" a voice asked.

Mary looked up from her perch on an overstuffed chair in the royal chambers, watching as the door opened and closed. The familiar voice stoked contrasting feelings of love and hatred in through her body, and she did nothing but close her book and place her goblet of wine on a nearby table. Footsteps could be heard on the hard, stone floor as the familiar loose gait came into view.

"Francis." she acknowledged.

"You asked so speak with me?" he asked, voice guarded, not letting the hope he felt seep through the half dozen words.

"I did." she nodded once. "Sit," she nodded to a close by green and gold armchair. He did so, almost obediently.

"Lola told me of your conversation some days ago." Francis remarked.

"Yes, your mother told me." she nodded once, again. Suddenly acknowledging how awkward and hard this conversation would be, she filled the goblet with dark wine and looked over at her still very alive husband. "Drink?" she asked.

He nodded quickly. "That would be lovely." he replied, reaching for the goblet she reached over to him. He gulped hard, trying his best to to physically shudder as their fingertips brushed as he took the cold glass.

Her skin was like the softest silk as it glided over his own. His hands were hardened from the two years of physical work, a contrast from the soft skin of her own. He glanced at her hands as the left retreated from him. They were as small as ever, skin a paler porcelain than before, fingers long and bare, the only jewellery she wore was her signet ring on the pointer finger. Due to the lateness of the hour, she wasn't dressed up like an Empress, looking more like the Mary he loved and left rather than the powerful Empress who took her place.

She still looked so, so beautiful.

"What did the two of you speak of?" Mary asked.

"Lola and myself?" she nodded. "She was awfully upset about the way your confrontation ended, told me a few things you had said to her."

"I cannot say my words were not justified, nor will I apologise for them." she said. "However, you and I must speak of where we are, now."

"Of course," he nodded quickly, taking a few gulps of wine in quick succession.

"We had our opportunity to yell and scream a few days ago, but now I wish to talk as civilised adults."

"Yes, as would I." Mary could clearly hear the relief in his words, observed the way his body relaxed a little as he looked towards her again.

"So, where are we?" Mary asked. "From your perspective."

"I know that I have done you wrong, but if you gave me a chance to fix it, I would like to try and get to a place where we were years ago. I know it's going to take a while, and a lot, but I don't want this to break us."

"Alright,"

"Also, I know that you are far from trusting me, and I know you must resent me for my actions, and would like you to know that I don't expect to be immediately forgiven."

"Alright," Mary paused. "That day, why did you leave?"

"I left because I suddenly had it sprung on me that a woman was locked out in plague stricken lands, carrying my unborn child. I couldn't let them die if given the opportunity to save them."

"So, you left me. James and I." Mary took a sip of wine.

"I did." Francis swallowed. "But I had no idea that you were with child at that time. I left you when you needed me the most, not just as your King helping to deal with a plague stricken country, but the father of your unborn child." he sighed. "I am sorry."

"I hope you are." Mary sighed. "I needed you, I needed you so badly. Even I didn't know I was pregnant at that time, Catherine and I found out a month later. I was terrified. Not only for you, but for everybody else. You knew better than anybody how impulsive I could be at that time, I was so scared of making the wrong decision. I feared that and having the country burn more than I did loosing my own life to the sickness." she finished. "When I needed you the most, you left me."

"Yes, I did. I left you to nurse a plague stricken country alone, pregnant with my child." he said, voice quiet yet clear.

"Yes," Mary sighed, hating how they had strayed so far from where they began all those years ago. "I want to ask you something," she said, taking another sip of wine.

"Of course,"

"If you knew then what you do now, would you have done the same thing?" Mary asked. He looked straighter at her, not answering, not understanding. "If you knew I was pregnant with James, knew that you and Lola and your son would end up trapped in Italy for over two years, knew that you would be declared dead, James borne and crowned King and I would be forced to marry another, would you have left?" Mary asked.

Francis was silent for many moments and Mary didn't push him, simply silently stared at him as she filled up their goblets once more.

"I don't think so," he finally decided. "I simply had an instinctual need to protect my son, who was in danger. I know ours was as well, but I didn't know about James at that point. I couldn't let him or Lola die. I know I did you wrong and so many cracks have appeared in our marriage because of it, I know I betrayed you. But, trust me, finding all this out has never made me feel lesser of a man than I do now. I wish I hadn't hurt you and made our son suffer because of my impulsiveness and sentimentality, but I couldn't let my son die when I had the chance to save him."

"Even at the expense of your country? Queen, heir and country?" Mary asked.

"At the time, yes." he sighed. Mary silently nodded. "I won't try to justify it, but you know my reasons. I wasn't thinking like a King, simply a shocked man."

"I do."

"We speak of James," Francis suddenly said, his tone changed. Mary looked at him. "I have been back a fortnight, when can I meet my son and heir?" he asked, knowing full well that Mary still held the complete power between the two.

"I don't know," she sighed. Francis frowned deeply. "I want us to be completely civil before you meet our son. He is perceptive and protective of me, even at this age. That is why we're talking. But, we are only talking to make sure James will not be afraid of confused when you meet him. I don't say this to give you false hope. I will not open my heart to you until my son does. Outside of my empire and France, he is my priority."

Francis nodded slowly. Although those words hurt, they were completely understandable.

"You wish to reconcile with me for our son?"

"For the time being, yes. It will take me a lot of time to even conceive of forgiving you for your betrayal and abandonment. If anything, it will take years. If we can be civil around James, and he grows used to being around you and won't remember a time where he didn't know you, then things will change. He doesn't deserve to grow up with parents who cannot stand each other, I won't put him through that. He doesn't deserve to grow up," she trailed off.

"Like I did." Francis finished. Mary nodded.

"Yes."

"What of us? Do we deserve to live like this?" Francis asked, leaning a little closer.

"You cannot ask such things," Mary looked away.

"It's your decision where we go with this." Francis acknowledged.

"I know," she sighed. "But, we must talk of our situation before we talk of the future."

"What would you like to know?"

"I want to know what deemed it okay for you to sleep with Lola." Mary straightened her back. "I know we weren't together, I won't try to justify my own actions at that time, but of all the woman you had to get pregnant. Must it have been her?" she asked, her tone now sad.

Francis sighed. "No, it did not. But, I didn't do it to hurt you or get some sort of immature revenge. We had been drinking the night before, talking of all we had lost. My life, Collen and Aylee. She started saying things and we woke up together-"

"Yes, yes, I know all of that." Mary rushed, rolling her eyes. "Get to your mentality."

"How do you know?" Francis asked, frowning. "Did Lola tell you?"

"No. I knew my plans would fall through when they were being made, and I couldn't bare to let you go completely. I sent spies to give me updates on you." Francis choked on his wine. Mary gave him a look, continuing on her tale. "You were in a whore house, friends of mine, those loyal to the De Guise Dynasty, were there. They told me everything you said to each other, transcripts were even written, in case I didn't believe them. 'Your heart will mend'" Mary recited, rolling her eyes again. "'We can't, Mary.", 'Mary is no longer a part of my life', 'Lola, I can't as you to', 'give up my virtue, I have known a man already, just one. Francis I want to'" Mary rolled her eyes. "Pitiful, really. Repulsive, even. But, I know everything that happened between you two, what's done is done." she said. Francis suddenly looked pale. "And the others, what was it, seven, eight, nine whores? You simply didn't know one of them was working for me." she finished.

"When did you-"

"You were not the only one pretending on our wedding tour, Francis." she said. "Take that for what you will." she paused. "Anyway," she moved swiftly on. "you have yet to answer my question. Why Lola?"

"I don't know. She was there and willing, I suppose. I was angry and betrayed because of what you and Bash had done, hurt that my father was trying to kill my mother. It was wrong and I know that now, but I just needed something, someone." Francis tried to explain. "I shouldn't have done it, don't misunderstand me, but I didn't think I'd ever see you again, that there would be no repercussions for you and I, definitely not a baby. But, I know I shouldn't have done it. Maybe not infidelity, but definitely betrayal towards you." Francis sighed. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sure," Mary rolled her eyes, gaining composure again. "Afterwards? Did any feelings for Lola come up?"

"We share a bond and a son, nothing more. In fact, it was really rather awkward being so physically close to her after what happened between us." Francis almost blushed. Mary frowned.

"Why are you blushing? Do you have feelings for her?"

"Absolutely not. I am embarrassed to be talking of this. Lola's a friend and a confidant, nothing more. Trust me."

"I wish I could." she sighed. "And, if you knew then what you do now? That we would wed and reign, would you have slept with my friend?"

"No. I wouldn't have." he sighed.

"You hurt me, regardless if you meant to or not. You hurt and betrayed me. You lied to me for months. You didn't even have to."

"I know, I just didn't want to ruin the perfect happiness we shared on our wedding tour. I didn't know how you'd react."

"But you should have." Mary sighed. "I would have been hurt and angry, but at that point, I knew. Regardless if that honesty would have hurt me, deception and omission hurt worse. If you had been honest with me, we could have figured something out. Marry Lola off to some noble far away from court, nobody none the wiser." she said. "Maybe that wouldn't have happened, these last two years. Maybe they would be different." she sighed. "We may not have even known about the baby, could live happily in ignorance." Mary finished.

"I know." Francis sighed.

"I suppose you are not all to blame. I did set those motions off."

"You did, but what we did is our own doing, not yours. You started it, but we finished it." Francis acknowledged.

They were silent for a few minutes.

"All that time, did you want to come back?" she asked.

"Of course I did! I thought of you constantly, I would have given almost anything to get back to your side! I never played family with Lola and our son. Every spare penny I earned from blacksmithry went to our fare back to court, but I had to feed and house us, clothe the baby and ourselves. I wanted to come back to you more than anything, I stopped at nothing to try and get back, but I had responsibilities that I couldn't abandon." Francis finished, his voice a little louder than usual.

"And now, we're here."

"Yes, we are."

"The child, does he call you father?"

"Yes, he does." Francis replied quietly.

"And you love him?"

"Of course," Francis looked away, knowing those words hurt her.

"Now that you're back, and are in the process of getting your power back, what are you going to do with him?"

"What to you mean?"

"As soon as you are King, are you going to claim it? Give it lands and titles?"

"I-I don't know. I wish to, but-"

"What?"

"I know you don't want me to."

"Of course I don't!" Mary almost cried. "Don't acknowledge him, publicly, please. It will ruin everybody."

"Why? It won't fall back on you, you have a son, our heir. There will be no repercussions for you by the world." Francis said, quicker than usual. "It would be different if we didn't have a son, but we do."

"You don't know our son! You don't know how perceptive he is! You don't know how protective he is over me! The moment he sees that the child hurts me, it will hurt him! He will grow to resent him, and he will ruin him the moment you're actually dead!"

"You don't know that!"

"Yes, I do! Not only will it diminish you on the worlds' stage, make you be thought of as weak and sentimental so soon after returning to the throne, but it will ruin his mother! It gives everybody evidence of her treason! If my nobles call for her head, I must deliver it! Marry her off, visit your child if you must, but don't destroy them!"

"This is a conversation for after I am legitimised again." Francis huffed. "Why do you care of my sons' happiness so much? He personifies pain and betrayal."

"Because he is innocent in all this, it isn't his fault that he was born to you and Lola, it isn't his fault he represents betrayal and treason! Francis, I don't want to live like your mother," she cried. "I don't want to live with a husband who sires bastard children will their mistresses. I don't want to see literal personifications of betrayal every time I walk through my court." she sniffled.

"Then don't!" he begged. "I will never hurt you like that again!"

"How can I believe you? When you have so much to loose?"

"Trust me! Trust the love that you now question, trust that I won't hurt you! What do I have to gain from hurting you again? Nothing! Why would I ruin the marriage you and I worked so hard for?"

"Because of your foolishness! Your weakness, sentimentality and impulsiveness! I cannot trust you! Not again!"

"Mary, please!" he got up from his chair and went over to hers, kneeling in front of her, grabbing her pale hands and kissing them briefly. "I love you, I still love you and I will forever love you. I will spend forever trying to regain your forgiveness and love, just give me one chance. Please."


	6. Chapter 6

Horses silenced. Grey clouds overlooked the gloom infested French Court. In the courtyard, nobody spoke a word, simply walked to different carriages to place full trunks on their backs. The ambience borderlined on eerie, nobody knowing quite what to say or how to say it.

The deed was done. The marriage between Mary and Henry Stuart had been annulled thee days previously. The former Emperor Consort's things had been packed up and safe passage had been booked to Wales, where Henry Stuart would live out the rest of his days in a small, comfortable manor house with a steady and generous income from the crown.

In his castle, the King of France stood by a criss-crossed window, observing the sombre thirty people of Henry's household. They wore blacks and dark greys, almost appearing to be in mourning. Which, in a way, they were.

After a large pay off to the Pope, it had been determined that the Empress and former Emperor wouldn't face execution for their adultery and bigamy, but neither could have any correspondence with each other, and the Stuart blooded male would live the rest of his life in exile. In addition, Henry couldn't plot to regain his throne and murder the King of France, or else he would be executed. He would be granted the title of Duke of Lancaster, but would forfeit his place on the English privy council and his original Duchy of the Duke of Edinburgh, the one he attained through his marriage to Mary.

He exhaled slowly through his nose when he saw Mary leading out her subject. He was on her arm. She was donned in a heavily beaded cream floor length, figure hugging gown with a high neck, covered up by a thick, dark and light grey fur cape. Long hair was up in a high, intricate ponytail, a tiara shimmering in the deep light. Her companion was donned in a dark grey riding ensemble, face low.

He saw her let go of his arm, the former Emperor Consort turning to her after a few moments. Francis grunted, observing the way Henry placed a hand on his wife's cheek, pressing his lips to the other one. His eyes narrowed into small slits, watching Henry bow low to his Empress, before slowly getting in one of the larger carriages.

And, moments later, he rode away.

"I cannot believe this." Henry grumbled, walking slowly to his carriages.

"I know, it would be a lot simpler should it be different." Mary said quietly, leading him over to the end of the stone walkways, the one she walked with Francis once returning to French court all those years ago.

"So, this is goodbye? You and I will never see each other again." Henry frowned, turning to Mary. She smiled sympathetically, nodding slowly.

"No. We will not." she sighed. "You've been a good and faithful friend to me, Henry. I just wish things could be different." she looked down.

Henry placed a hand to her cheek, turning her face up to meet his. He leaned in close, kissing his former wife's cheek one last time, before pulling back. Mary watched him take two steps back, bowing low.

"My Empress." he said, bowing. He stood straight again.

"I hope you live a long and happy life, Henry." Mary lowered her eyes, staring at his forced, half smile, before glancing up at his eyes.

"Long may you reign, your Imperial Majesty." he said, turning from her and walking into his carriage, settling down onto the seat and hearing the door close and lock to his left.

He gulped down his disappointment and hurt until he was away from Mary's gaze, and then, ever so slowly, let the tears fall.

Mary sighed as all the carriages pulled away, one by one, before walking slowly back into the palace, not once looking back.

"Well, how are you going to fix that?" Catherine asked suddenly. Francis slowly turned to her, not speaking. "This marriage. How are you going to fix it?" she asked.

"I honestly have no idea," he sighed. "The pope says he and his people should restore me to the throne, properly, and Mary and I's marriage to be declared legal once more, but I'm not sure that's what she wants." he finished.

"What do you mean?" Catherine frowned, walking towards her eldest son as he turned fully from the window.

"You haven't heard the way she peaks to me. I believe she's given up on me, us. She can never forgive me for my betrayal and abandonment, let alone what I did to her and James. Picking Lola and Jean over Mary and James. Honestly, if the positions were reversed, I'd do the same." he sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

"If that's the case, how would you want her to act?"

"I-" he sighed. "I'd want her to tell me that she loved me and only me, that nobody came close. That, simply because I wasn't her first choice in impulsive situations, that didn't mean I wasn't first in her heart. I'd want her to explain every granite detail of her actions, even if it hurt. I'd want her to give me time to forgive and process everything in my head, not to push me to talk unless I wasn't ready. I'd have her earn my trust, not letting anything change who we were to each other." he rambled.

"then you have your answer. Give her time, let her figure out how she feels about you. This is her choice, you made it so. Follow her lead, Francis." Catherine tried to soothe, walking over to her eldest son and running her fingers down his arms, clasping his hands. "Jean. What are you going to do about him?" Catherine asked. "Him and Lola?"

"I want to claim him, mother. I want the world to know that I claimed him as my own. I want to give him a better life than Bash had." he sighed. "But, Mary-" he trialled off again.

"Mary doesn't want you to." she said. Francis nodded. "See it from her perspective. The child her husband sired with her best friend, ran away for over two years to raise in a tiny village whilst she thought her husband was dead will always be a permanent fixture in her court. She will see the personification of pain and betrayal every day for the rest of her life." Catherine tried to explain.

"I never wanted to hurt her, mother. It just happened!"

"I'm not blaming you, Francis. But, you must understand where she's coming from."

"I know, I know." he paused. "What do you think I should do, mother?"

"Claim him, Francis. I'm speaking to you as a mother. As your mother. I can tell you that if you do not claim him, there will be a distance between you and that boy for the rest of your lives. Jean knows you are his father, most of court has already guessed. You must do right by him. He will never be king, Francis, but James will. You can ease what ever rage or distrust he feels over time. In time, he won't remember a time where you weren't here. You want them to be close, yes? Like you and Sebastian were?" she questioned. He nodded softly. "Then make them so. Children are like clay, you can mould them to any shape. And I can promise you that raising him, alongside James, will be the singular joy of your life." Francis nodded slightly. "I won't pretend with you, Francis. Mary will be angry, furious. But, in time, she will adjust to the situation. So will her son. I did." Catherine was cut off.

"But, you and father, you hated each other in your reign. Uncomunication, love and mistrust ruined you."

"You love Mary. And I believe she still loves you. You will make it past this, Francis. You will always be with her in some shape or form. Your bond together is stronger than that of your father and I's. Believe that, Francis."

"My love." Mary smiled, entering the nursery after a long day of meetings and political affairs. From the ground, James squealed as he locked eyes on his mother, bumbling over to her. He wrapped his arms around her legs, embracing her slender legs covered in coral satin, little face turning up to beam at his mother.

"He's been as good as gold, your Imperial Majesty." Annaliece, one of her must trusted nannies, smiled at her Queen Regent, curtsying low.

"Have you, my love?" Mary asked her little son, bending down and picking up his little body. James giggled in response, letting out a garbled word that began with a 'Y'. She smiled warmly at her child.

"Has he taken supper?" Mary asked.

"Yes, your Imperial Majesty. The boy finished his stewed aubergine, ate half a slice of bread with most of his sliced chicken and pork, before eating most of his carrot, potato and sprout salad. He enjoyed a bowl of almond pudding with a small piece of cherry pie." she replied.

"Good. What did he drink?"

"Cold boiled water and a juiced apple."

"Lovely." Mary answered. "Are you ready for bed, now?" she asked James. He shook his head, muttering a no, but his mouth opening in an adorable little yawn contradicted this. Mary smiled softly.

"I believe it is," she looked to her nanny. "have his evening bath prepared, with some warm milk sweetened with honey." she instructed. From her arms, James let out a soft coo, nuzzling into the crook of her neck. Mary smiled softly, pressing a kiss to his head.

"Yes, your Imperial Majesty," she said, walking out of the room after another deep curtsy. James turned and waved at one of his favourite nannies as she left, continuing to do so as his mother dismissed the two guards, other nanny and three servants that were in the room, finally leaving mother and child alone for the first time since dawn that morning.

It had been a hard day. Henry had left that morning, after news of their marriage's annaulation had reached from the Vatican. She was saddened to see one of her must trusted friends leave, and was unhappy to receive news of a bit of turbulence in the Italian border with France, and up in the west of the Scottish highland. Troops and diplomats had been sent either direction, but it had taken quite a bit of time to pacify and soothe frantic nobility.

Never mind the fact that some were still shaken up over the fact that their King had somehow risen from the grave he never was really in, in the first place, of course. The Empress and Queen Regent chuckled softly, subconsciously tightening her hold on the little boy in her arms. Said King had been in his chambers all day plotting with his mother

Mary walked over to a chaise, settling them both down against it. Knowing what was coming, James waited impatiently, squirming on Mary's reclined torso. Quickly, she freed a breast and covered her child as he eagerly started to suckle. Try as they might to wean him from her, James was still reluctant to completely stop the intimate bonding time both enjoyed.

Mary stared down at her child with a soft smile. He was so perfect, so undaunted or untainted by this horrid world.

She observed his features. He looked rather like her. All dark golden eyes and raven hair. James held his fathers curls, but Mary's cheekbones. Her eye shape and his nose. Her chin and his jawline. His lips but her porcelain skin. So sweet and innocent, yet so protective and perceptive.

"I love you, mo gaol." she whispered in her native tongue, stroking his silky black hair. "I'll do whatever I possibly can to protect you." she finished.

Mary didn't know if James understood what she said, but a tiny hand gripping her own made her think he did.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Mary jumped, body snapping up from the overstuffed satin chaise. She overlooked her surroundings, finding herself inside James' spacious, luxury nursery.

How did she get here?

It took a moment to remember that the boy had had a nightmare in the middle of the night, and would only soothe when his mother had been with him. So, Mary found herself spending the night in the chaise.

The door swung open and Mary wrapped a tighter arm around James' still sleeping body, the other hand grappling for the blade the Empress always kept under the chaise.

"Forgive me, your Imperial Majesty." A voice said. Mary looked over and saw Steven, a fair haired, green eyed bastard son of the Empress' half brother, John Stewart. He acted as a spy and page for his godmother and aunt, who had raised him ever since he was fourteen.

"Steven." she clarified, relaxing. "What is it, child?" she asked, never having broken the habit of referring to him as that.

"The Lady Aimee, the Lady Amelile, the Lady Charlotte, Renee of Blois, Gabrielle of Melun, Jacquitte of Beray, Marion of Amboise, Blanche of Numois and Adrienne of Étampes, your Grace," he bowed out, opening the door for Mary's nine working girls.

Whilst she would never openly admit it, she'd built up quite the flying squad in the French Court. All were fiercely loyal to her, many others stationed all across the country, their only tasks to sleep with noblemen and important fixtures in France, all giving information to the Queen Regent who was due to become the Queen Consort of France in due time. Similar arrangements had been set up in England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland as well, but it was in France that they had truly established this little agreement.

They had done terrible, terrible things to prove their undivided loyalty to Mary, all of this starting just after the long dead Count Vincent's little visit to the French Court. It had became serious when Mary had started adapting to the ways of the French Royal Court, even more so when Francis had left over two years ago.

The most accomplished ladies, such as Aimee, Amelile and Charlotte had been given titles as rewards for their efforts. Aimee, the Empress' personal favourite, had been married off to a wealthy and powerful Duke, for it had been her to inform the then Queen of Scots and Dauphine of France, of Francis' little adventures away from Court. However, her loyalty hadn't changed ever since her wedding just after Mary had found out about Lola's bastard pregnancy.

"What it is, girls?" she asked.

"Mary, your Imperial Majesty, we've heard something terrible!" Blanche, the youngest of the nine, cried, cheeks even redder than they would be as they stood out of the dark blue satin of her strapless gown. Mary cocked her head at the one who reminded her of dear young Aylee, the newest acquisition who had worked for her for several months had been nothing but loyal, even if they had to get rid of the little bit of childish innocence she clung to.

"What, Blanche?"

"The King, the King and the Queen mother have been speaking over King Francis' bastard son!" she exclaimed. Mary cocked her head, glancing down at James as she stood up, cradling him against her chest, walking over to her girls.

"What of it?"

"The Queen mother encourages him to claim it!" she exclaimed, almost outraged.

"What?" Mary gasped. "Just a few night ago, the Queen mother understood my reluctance to let it happen! How could she double deal against me like this?" she questioned, passing James over to Amelile.

"She says she thinks only of King Francis' happiness, not of Prince James' future, nor your happiness, your highness!" Gabrielle added.

Mary shook her head, anger coursing through her veins. She explained her reasons! She explained how James would ruin his bastard half brother as he grew into a man! And they still want Francis to claim the bastard child?!

"Charlotte," she said instead, pulling the black donned red head's attention to her. "Get into bed with the cardinal, get him to tell you when the legitimisation will happen. We must find out how much time we have left." she demanded. Charlotte nodded and curtseyed with an "of course, your Imperial Majesty", leaving without another word.

"You three," she addressed Blanche, Adrienne and Marion. "find out whatever you can about this, find out if Catherine is simply lying to her son, do whatever you must." she instructed. They nodded, curtseyed and left.

"You," she addressed Renee of Blois, Gabrielle of Melun, Jacquitte of Beray, three blondes from eastern France, known for the deviousness and deception. "Become acquainted with the bastards' mother, her servants and the nannies stationed for the bastard son. Find out about any possible matches she may be juggling, if she wishes to take her bastard and flee, find out anything she could have withheld from me."

"You two, my most accomplished and trusted, become acquainted with anybody immediately close to the King, sleep with his servants or guards, read his journal, even become acquainted with him if you must, but you do not share intimacies with him. Find out his feelings and immediate actions. And, if he truly means to claim it, send for my servants to pack mine, my ladies, my sons' and your things. If the King claims his bastard son, we are going to Scotland. And we will not return."

"Are you sure of this, Mary?" Greer asked as she finished the complicated bun at the back of Mary's head.

"Not really, no." Mary sighed. Greer had really been the one to step up the most during their tumultuous time in France. Easily the most loyal out of her ladies, second possibly only to Aylee, but Aylee was gone now. She trusted her more than Kenna, simply because Greer was easily the smartest and most level headed out of all of them, even though she still adored her half sister in law. Kenna could be too impulsive and hedonistic at times, ambition for personal rise sometimes could outweigh what was loyal and right.

But, she trusted her and loved her a tenfold more than she did the other Scottish blooded woman taking up residence in the castle.

As much as Mary trusted her working girls, the trust between her, Greer and Kenna was deeper, stronger. It could be labelled as mutual understanding, seeing as they held similar opinions and heritage, but even then, it seemed deeper.

"I think you should continue to wait until the dust has settled between the two of you before you introduce them." Kenna chimed in, fixing a pair of long emerald earrings onto her Queen's ears.

"I am aware, I know it won't end well, but to keep their suspicions to a minimum, they need to be distracted." Mary sighed, fiddling with her signet ring.

"They still don't know?" Greer asked.

"No, they don't. Regarding this situation, there's every possibility either one will sweet talk me into deception of their own, tell me whatever I want to hear until they do whatever they please," Mary sighed, feeling Greer slide pins and twist knots into her long raven locks from behind her.

It was the day that Mary finally agreed to let Francis see James for the first time. Things had been better and worse in both areas. They hadn't been fighting as much over the past two weeks, although Mary ached to scream at him for his deception. They'd only yelled once before, around four days ago, when Francis had made the mistake of mentioning Lola in the presence of her Empress.

Mary's girls had been doing all they could for their Queen Regent, but much to her annoyance, things hadn't progressed as fast as they wished. Only a vague time scale from Charlotte and barely anything they didn't already know from the others. It angered Mary that she was at a disadvantage and could do little but await for this whole mess to play out.

The Pope had made strides to Francis' legitimisation, but it was taking longer than they thought to restore him to the throne. Mary hadn't objected, although she clearly wanted to at times, making the whole process a little smoother with the French public, but certain people wouldn't accept certain things whilst others were certainly more ardent in their acceptance than others.

Mary was still reeling from these past few weeks, but simply couldn't let it cloud her judgement in ruling. If anything, it had made her a stronger ruler, more perceptive and ardent in her judgement. Although well aware that she was killing the young girl inside of her, the one who believed Francis and she would live and rule for a long time, a dozen children at their feet, but there really was no alternative. It was either become a ruler or die trying to be one.

Honestly, as bad as it sounds, Mary was genuinely surprised that Francis hadn't been assassinated over the last little while. To be truly killed and dead forever. It would have been so much simpler if he had been, and the fair haired King had gained many enemies over the fact he still walked amongst the living. It wouldn't have been surprising if word had reached them that the powerless King was actually dead. They could have kept this mess from the public and the history books, she and Henry could have grown to love each other and gave James many half brothers and sisters, could have lived a life together, but unfortunately, they didn't live in a dream world. It would have been great, but the man had been cooped up in his chambers with heavy guards ever since his return. He was here to stay, and would emerge covered in glory after the Pope legitimised him once again and reinstated their marriage.

Which, unfortunately, meant introducing Francis to his legitimate son for the first time.

"How do you think James will react to seeing him for the first time?" Kenna asked.

"He won't be happy. He will cry and he will pine for another he knows, one of us or Bash. No matter what Francis wishes to think, their will be no immediate connection or love. You know how perceptive and protective he is. He will pull away from him, make it known that he doesn't like being around him. I think he'll sense the animosity between Francis and I, and I have been told by the nanny Francesca that little boys are even more protective of their mothers than their fathers. Never mind the fact that James doesn't even know his own father." Mary finished, a little sigh at the end, never thinking she'd be saying the last sentence in her life.

"Bash and I have spoken of this." Kenna blurted softly, tying a necklace of diamonds and emeralds around her Queen's neck.

"Oh?" Greer asked. "What does he say?"

"He knows why you want him gone, he does. He knows that Lola's child will cause you nothing but pain, still doesn't understand why Francis wishes to claim the child and keep him here. But," Kenna sighed.

"But what?" Greer asked, curiosity expanding.

"He adores James, you know that, but Jean," Kenna trialled off.

"Jean, what?" Greer prodded.

"I am sure that he favours Jean to James." Kenna blurted. Mary's eyebrows furrowed, a frown of confusion appearing on her face.

"Why is that?" her voice was cold, for reasons too complicated to explain.

"Nothing you or James has done, Mary." Kenna added, voice quick. "But I am sure Bash relates to Jean. Both being bastard born, both will know and knew lives of pain, scorn and neglect, both represent pain and betrayal. There has to be more, but Bash is one of the few people that can look at Jean and see him for what he is, a little boy, not for what he personifies." Kenna said, not thinking. When she did, she started spluttering and stumbling over her words.

"Mary, I-I-" she started, fearing the wrath of the back of Mary's hand. She had felt it a few times, knowing the symbolism of their positions hurt worse than the strike.

"No, I kind of understand." Mary sighed. "I don't like what I have to become to be a ruler. I don't like the fact that I almost resent the child for his conception, nor do I wish to send him away. He is innocent, but even I have to protect his future." Mary sighed, getting up from the chair and pulling on a long white fur house coat over her ivory silk gown with spaghetti straps over the shoulders. Her satin court heels clicked against the stone flooring. Kenna helped her fasten the coat, fixing the belt she wore, the same one she wore to her first wedding.

Straightening out her dark green gown, Greer quickly fastened a few more pins to her Empress' hair, blooming out the raven curls around her back and hips, straightening the diamond crown.

"Let's get on with this, then." she sighed, walking out of the door and over towards the Prince's nursery.

Catherine was inside, kneeling in front of the tiny prince, smiling and talking to her second grandson. The room was comfortingly lit with a fire, the sky dark and room cozier than usual. It was also full with the usual three guards, four servents and two nannies. They talked amongst themselves quietly, only stopping to bow and curtsey to the Queen Regent.

"Your Imperial Majesty." they murmured, before talking to each other once more.

James' little dark head snapped up, hearing the familiar words. With a sweet squeal of excitement, James bolted up from the floor where he and Catherine sat, rushing over on steadying legs to hug his mother's legs that were encased in a wide ball gown skirt.

He looked up at her, a wide toothy smile on his little face.

Mary smiled back, kneeling to take the child in her arms, resting him on her hip.

"My love," Mary smiled softly, stroking his black curls back from his face and kissing him softly.

The little Prince started to wine as he was placed on Catherine's lap, who had sat on one of the chairs in the room, a gift from the last King of Persia after James' birth.

"Shh, my little love," Mary whispered, kneeling in front of her son and kissing his little hands that started to reach out to her again.

Mary stood up and walked behind the chair, nervously fiddling with her fingers as she started to hear the sound of firmiliar footsteps. The loose gait could be identified anywhere.

"Are you sure about this, Catherine?" Mary asked, whispering to her mother in law. "It seems too soon."

"It is not, Mary. You simply need a push." Catherine answered with a smile, looking back at her. "All of you do."

Mary exhaled slowly, looking up as the door opened and the fair haired blonde King walked inside the warm, cozy room. Sebastian trialled behind his half brother.

"My dear little James, this is your father." Catherine smiled as Francis came forward, kneeling on the floor with a smile.

Catherine set her younger grandson on the floor, slowly encouraging him to walk forwards to his father.

Silently gesturing to the guards, servants and nannies to leave. Silently, they did.

"James," Francis whispered. "I'm your papa, and I am so sorry for not being there. But, I am here now, and never leaving again." he said, quiet and slow.

James stood staring at his father for a long time, inspecting him. Francis let him look for as long as he wanted, not moving, just looking back at his son.

God, he looked just like Mary. All dark eyes and hair, similar features and a mysterious, soothing aura.

Finally, James blinked slowly, langidly, cocking his head to the side, black curls swinging over a tiny black leather clad shoulder.

A little, soft smile painted his lips, dimples exposing themselves on his cheeks.

Francis exhaled a chuckle through his nose, smiling wider than he had in over two years.

He raised a tiny hand, a little wave. A little word slipped from his lips, a similar way he spoke when talking to one of Francis' elder siblings or a courtier.

"Hello." he quietly said, the word soft and a little slurred.

Francis beamed at him.

Mary exhaled a little. Okay, this isn't bad. She thought, looking at the interaction.

The slight sound brought James' attention to her. He looked back at his mother, then over at his father. Back to his mother, then over to his father. Over and over and over and over again.

Suddenly, as if understanding the last twenty eight months, his little eyebrows furrowed and he started to frown at his father.

James took a step back to his mother. Francis stood up again.

"Are you nice to mama?" James asked, words misspoken and babbled.

"Not all the time, but I always will be now." Francis answered. "I promise."

James shook his head, little curls moving.

"Don't know."

Seeing the heartbreak in Francis' eyes, something changed in Mary. She didn't want him to hurt like she hurt these last few years. At her most vengeful, she would have wanted Francis to hurt the worst way possible, but now that he was starting to, Mary didn't like it. She had to be better than what he had done over the last while.

"James." Mary softly said, walking over and kneeling down next to her son. "No need to be scared or unsure, it's okay." she softly said.

"Who, mama? Who?" James asked, taking quick glances at Francis through his misspoken words. Mary's eyes hardened, hating the fact that, like her, she had no idea who his father was.

"He's your father," Mary brushed a curl behind his little ear. "Your papa." Mary tried to smile.

"No hurt, mama. No hurt." James repeated.

Mary smiled softly.

"He won't hurt me." She tried to promise.

"Promise, mama? No hurt, not let mama sad," James rushed.

Mary smiled softly again. "I hope so."


	7. Chapter 7

Mary let out a groan, leaning her head on the dark oak table of her study. Everything was simply too much. Her world had done two one hundred and eighty degree turns in just under three years. Mary hated feeling out of control, and she felt nothing but out of control over these last few months. It was simply too much, too much to wrap her head around, making it nearly impossible to rule with a level mindset. The raven haired beauty let out another whimpered groan, her head starting to throb from the events of the last three months.

First, she was thrust from a simple convent into the dangerous court of France. Then, her entire soul starts to darken, before her husband finally makes her pregnant and abandons her for two years to play house with his mistress and bastard child. He was legally declared dead, forcing her into a tumultuous marriage that had potential to grow into something more, before her first husband was magically resurrected from the grave and ruined everything she had grown in his absence. His treasonous lover and bastard child in towe, both having the potential to ruin her and her own son.

"Mary," a voice said. Looking up, she saw Greer coming towards her. The fair haired beauty came closer, long blonde waves reaching the lower part of her dark blue and silver embellished gown. Easily the most loyal of her ladies, she slowly advanced to her Empress, holding a folded piece of parchment. She looked troubled, concerned even, as she reached out her arm to give her Empress and friend the update that had been far too late. Greer's eyes were squinted slightly, her brow furrowed, lips pulling down in a frown that didn't look at all natural on her face.

"What is it?" Mary asked, her own voice sounding like one of a stranger, exhaustion -physical and mental- clear in the words. Lack of sleep and constant work had taken it's tole upon her. Subjects were frantic, wondering how their previous Consort could have miraculously risen from the grave, whilst devout subjects anxiously awaited news on their Empress, seeing if she could face any sort of punishment from this new development. James had left with Darnley to go back to ruling Scotland in her stead, until her own imminent return to the land of her blood, not that of her childhood.

But her James, her beloved son, had taken a different approach to Francis' return. Whilst the first visit had gone better than expected, the intelligent child's perceptiveness had seeped through, refusing to acknowledge his father unless his mother was in the room. It was almost as if he knew what had happened between the two of them, still refusing to fully accept his father to this day. What little bond they had was shattered when Francis brought him an item previously held by his other son, resulting in James not going near him or it, wailing until it was taken away.

It had been two weeks since the first visit, the nightly visits from King to heir had soured. James absolutely refused Francis holding him, only letting him get relatively close when his mother was at his side. Mary had been convinced that he could identify the other child's' sent, not taking to it as he had taken to her own. If Francis had seen his bastard son before the legitimate heir, James wouldn't go near him, but it had to be deeper than that. Try as he might, Francis was still a stranger to him, and the child didn't trust strangers.

"It's from one of your working girls. The ones you sent to look over Francis." Greer clarified, settling down on one of the seats after Mary's nod. Said Empress sighed. It had been far too long since this was due, normal curiosity at seeing the information severely dampened by the fact she hadn't had an hour of rest in her horrendously busy day. James wouldn't settle because of Francis' impromptu visit the night before, not allowing his mother to take her eyes off him, and French Court had been in disarray thanks to the imminent legitimisation of the royal marriage.

"I see." Mary sighed, opening the parchment and reading the code she and her girls had established with relative ease, eyes skimming over the words quickly, before she let the parchment fly from her fingers to the cold table, resting her head and hands on it, another groan slipping from her lips.

"What is it?" Greer frowned, adjusting her skirt. Mary glanced at her. The woman was pregnant with her second child, young George's anxiously awaited younger sibling. Greer was still frowning, fixing the dark blue satin of her skirt almost nervously, eyes darker than usual, her own exhaustion visible within them.

"Squirming around?" Mary guessed, observing Greer's lack of comfort and own squirming, recognising the symptoms well.

"Yes," Greer sighed, settling back against a cream satin, flower embroidered settee. "George wasn't this much trouble." she grumbled.

"Another reason why Kenna believes Meredith will have a little girl to play with," Mary chuckled. Greer shook her head, a reluctant smile painting itself on her lips. Greer's young son and Kenna's baby daughter were one of the few children James unashamedly got on with, much to the contrast of his own half brother, the one he couldn't even stand the presence of, let alone the vision.

"Yes," Greer chuckled. The little eleven month old girl was as bright and chirpy as her mother, the young girl adoring her proclaimed cousins. "But, I wasn't handed urgent information just to talk of our children." Greer started. "What does the letter say? Perhaps my own ladies can help." she suggested. Even though contently married to Aloysius, baring his youngest son and unborn child, the woman was fiercely independent, owning her own brothel just outside of Paris, the working ladies often helping Mary's own working girls in their assignments for information to the Queen Consort and Queen Regent of France.

"Many things," Mary sighed. "one of my girls has finally slept with one close to the Pope and the Vatican, within a week they plan to legitimise Francis and I's marriage, restore his rights to the throne of France, as well as my Consort." she sighed. Although Mary didn't have a choice in the matter of her and Francis' marriage, would prefer it to be legal than invalid and prevent James being a bastard, she still strongly disliked having to be wed to a man who could still break her heart and bring her sharp downfall and complete, utter destruction.

"What else?" the Lady Castleroy asked, fiddling with a piece of golden ringlets, pushing them behind her ear, listening to her raven haired Empress.

"Another has gotten close to Francis' page and secretary. She says he still wishes to claim his bastard, christen it into the church and give him his name." Mary sighed.

"Has anybody driven the point home? That he really should not do this?" Greer asked.

"Three nights ago, you did." Mary tried to chuckle.

"No! No!" James squealed, squirming away from the pair of black velvet covered arms. The arms of his father had reached for him four times now, not acknowledging -not wishing to acknowledge?- the fact his heir wanted them to stop.

"Shh, James. It's alright." Bash reminded him, stooping low at his nephew's side. He placed a hand on his little nephew's shoulder, dwarfing the little curvature of bone. But, still, James shook his head, not acknowledging the fact that his father had stepped back a few paces, looking all over the nursery.

"Mama! Mama!" he wined. He looked up at Bash with wide, golden eyes, giving him the same look that the little nine year old Mary did when she was ushered from the French Court in the middle of the night after an assassination attempt. Bash shivered a little.

"Mama is with the boring men," Bash tried to appease. "she will come to you as soon as she is able." Bash tried to calm his little, wining, nephew. But, the little boy shook his head and wrapped his tiny arms around Bash's neck, still wining for his mother who was stuck in a privy council meeting.

With a huff of frustration, Greer took Francis by the bicep and dragged him outside.

"Greer! What are you doing?" Francis hissed as the door closed.

"I can do whatever I please, you are not my Emperor, nor the true King of France just yet," Greer glared. "What did you honestly expect to happen between you and the Prince?" she hissed. "He doesn't know you, through your own foolishness. You are a stranger to him, you cannot force a connection between you, this is his choice. Follow his lead."

"I did," Greer admitted, playing with the large emerald on her new necklace, a gift for her actions. "But I don't mean telling him why he shouldn't claim the child, I mean why he should. He can't be this stubborn on his own, we know him."

"We knew him," Mary reprimanded. "Like all of us, he has changed over the last two years. We all have."

"Does it say who is encouraging him to claim Lola's child?" Greer asked. Mary nodded.

"Catherine." Mary sighed.

"What?!" Greer nearly cried. Unhappily, Mary chuckled a little. "Shouldn't Catherine be on our side for this? After all, you have essentially repeated history. Lola, Diane. Francis, Henry. You, Catherine. Jean, Bash. James, Francis. She of all people should know what you are going through, God knows how many times she tried to send Bash away as a child. Shouldn't she be encouraging him not to claim him?" Greer babbled.

"She's thinking of her son's happiness, I cannot fault her for that." Mary sighed. "She knows what her son wants, wants the best for him. It's understandable."

"It may be justified, but it isn't right. When will she learn to think like a Queen not a mother?" Greer huffed.

"Look at you, barating Catherine. Telling her how to act like a Queen." Mary chuckled. Greer blushed. "You are right though. The whole prophecy thing shows us she thinks like a mother more than a Queen. But, she is not the Queen anymore, I am. I must think like a queen. Whether I like it or not, that child exists and he is my subject. I have a duty to protect them, he is French and also a Scot. I am chosen to protect all of them. But, if James sees how that boy hurts me, he will grow to resent him, and when he is Emperor, he will destroy him." Mary sighed.

"I know, we must stop it."

"How? All we can do is tell Francis what we think he should do, but the man is stubborn. It is his choice, his crown will be returned to him within the week. God knows, I wish to marry Lola off to the highest bidder of no real power, let her live away from court so I never have to see her or that child again. But, we have to prepare for the worst." Mary sighed.

"Why don't you tell him how you feel?"

"I have." Mary sighed. "He knows my opinion, but he doesn't like it."

"So you're spying on him because," Greer trialled.

"He could be lying to me. Catherine lies to me. I believe Francis and Lola are lying to me now." Mary replied.

"What? Why? How?"

"When I confronted her after their return, Lola told me she believes Francis got drunk a few nights they were away, bedded other women. But, Francis contradicts, saying he spent every penny on their fare home. One of them is lying to me. I must find out who."

"Take this the nicest way, and I mean no disrespect in any way," Greer slowly said. "But you are turning into Catherine. Unhappily married, ruling France, Queen Consort, a legitimate son, wishing her husband's bastard would disappear, along with his mother, having people who are loyal to you and you only, sleeping with people to get information," she quietly trialled on.

"The crown changes everything, Greer." Mary finished. "You should know that by now."

Three days later, however, Mary didn't know how right she was.

Court was gathered all throughout the gardens, a party sparing no expenses organised by the Queen Mother of France and Baroness Kenna de Portiers was sure to impress. Music played throughout the greenery, the warm winds comforting, the sun in her almighty Majesty overlooking the celebrating French people. Food and wine was in no shortness, everybody dressed in their finery, dancing and laughing amongst each other.

Outside the Palace walls, the people of France were also in good spirits. Food was passed out generously, wine, blankets and wood in no shortage, slowly filtering through the once plague stricken, now prospering lands. Neighbours laughed as friends, for one singular day, no animosity, just happiness.

Two people, donned in regal red and grandeur gold, walked up the long isles of the grand Cathedral where the Kings and Queens of France have walked before them. In the cathedral, two sections were full to the brim with the most important to France and the most dear to it's King and Queen.

Two crowns, one sceptre and an orb lead to two grand thrones.

And, those thrones lead to the words.

"All Hail His Imperial Majesty, Francois of the House of Valois-Angoulême, second of his name, King Regnant of France, Emperor Consort of England, Wales, Ireland and Scotland and it's isles, Duke of Anjou, Lorraine and Edinburgh."

Another crown lead to the words.

"All Hail Her Imperial Majesty, Mary of the House of Stuart, first of her name, Queen Consort of France, Empress of England, Wales, Ireland and Scotland and it's isles, Duchess of Anjou, Lorraine and Edinburgh."

And, they celebrated. They were paraded through the towns and the cities, smiling and laughing despite the animosity between the two. It was temporarily forgotten until they reached the grand gardens of the French Court. And, for a grand, sacred moment, it was as if nothing had happened between the two.

If only.

If only, indeed.

The happiness and grandeur for the Queen Consort of France was hauled like a cliff face stops a wave. A wave of stark, ice cold realisation of the future. Her destined future forever changed with just forty three words.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the court, I thank you for all your support since my return to the French Court just three months ago. Now, it is my honour to introduce to you my son, Jean Phillip Valois-Anguleme, first Baron of Velay!"

And, those words turned into these, reader. Words that forever changed the lives of Mary Stuart, Empress of England, Wales, Ireland and Scotland, and Francis Valois, King of France. But, for James Henry Stuart-Valois, Crown Prince of France, England, Wales, Ireland and Scotland most of all.

"Greer, send for servants to pack our things. We're going to Scotland, today. And, we are not returning."


	8. Chapter 8

"Mama!" an enthusiastic little chirp erupted through the serene mountain tops. A seventh arrow landed close to her others, and she beamed excitedly at it, lowering the bow she held in her hand, turning to the small boy who held every inch of her heart. The young Empress turned from her target practice to look behind her, seeing Kenna, Greer, her elder half brother and beloved little son coming towards her. She smiled wide at all of them. Greer held her newborn baby girl, Rose, in her arms, whilst James walked with the little fifteen month old product of Kenna and Bash's love, tiny Meredith. The sweet little girl held Bash's eyes and Kenna's hair, the perfect mix of the two of them.

Almost six months had passed since their return to Scotland. France had made them all so unhappy towards the end of their tenure there. With the whole Lola-Francis-Jean fiasco, the Empress craved to leave it behind. So, she did. The day Francis announced he was claiming his bastard, Mary had packed up her household and set sail to Scotland, all without the King figuring it out. It wasn't so hard, really. He was too distracted by the little bastard boy anyway. But, it had proved into a blessing in disguise. He could focus on his little, sinful family and his country, whilst Mary could focus on her heir and her empire. Besides, the little boy who held her heart wouldn't be missing out on much. He had father figures, and had never accepted his father anyway, plus, the child never contented as deep as he did when he and his mother were in the land of their Scottish blood. Mary had never felt more at peace than she did when in the land of her blood, so deeply connected to her father and the Kings before her. It made her feel like a better ruler, which in some ways, she was. France was behind her. She would assist her whenever France needed it, with the might of her combined army and the power and money of her empire, but France directly linked her to Francis, and she would happily spend the rest of her life not living with the reminder of his betrayal and her pain.

Mary now had complete focus on her empire, with France being steadily governed by it's very alive King. With intelligent governing, tolerant ruling and some risky treaties equalling religion that seemed to have became fruitful. The Pope hadn't been too happy with her, but some specific bribes had made most of her troubles go away for the time being. Those who were uneasy about her French upbringing had been silenced, as well, resourceful actions, bribes of gold and jewels, land and titles had silenced those who resented her for the whole ordeal with Darnley -who lived comfortably in southern Wales in a small manor house with a generous income and a comfortable title, the option of wedding whomever he wanted making him do whatever he could to assist her in making the mess go away. The man had powerful connections, after all. And, as long as she kept Lady Lennox away from her impressionable, sometimes naive, son, he would continue to do so.

However, ruling an empire alone had proved to be a large challenge. Her time with James was vastly limited, especially with her boy starting casual lessons with the best governess in the country. However, knowing full well the consequences of a lack of mothering and a mother figure in life -Mary's own mother's coldness throughout their lives and the fact Catherine had always disliked her- the Empress always made sure to see him at their daily meals and before he went to sleep, no matter how busy the day became. To this day, their connection remained as strong as ever.

Mary beamed at him, kneeling to accept his little running body as he released his half-cousin's hand to rush into the arms of his mother. He rushed into the silver ball gown she wore, the tight bodice with white lace embroidery becoming crushed by the little boys' tight embrace. Mary heard Greer laugh as James pressed a kiss to her cheek, enjoying every moment he had with his mother. She picked him up off the ground, resting him on her hip and the slight puff of her skirts, placing the bow and arrows on a near bye table and walking over to the contingent of those she loved.

"Mary," the Earl of Moray said, leading the triplet of bows, before standing tall and smiling at his young namesake as the boy started to play with the lace that fell down Mary's skirts and the silver satin belt she wore, tied in a bow at the front.

"I am glad to see you. How was your trip to London?" she asked her elder half brother.

"Fruitful, sister. The slight animosity to your throne that couldn't be helped by Lord Mason was quickly dissolved." James smiled softly.

"I am glad." Mary replied.

"Shall we have some tea? I have much to discuss with you." Kenna said, gesturing to the small table being set up by servants, more carrying chairs, others carrying trays of cups, pots and small cakes.

"Of course," Mary nodded, as Lady Eva, her handmaiden, tied a white fur lined silver and white cape around her throat. Little James squealed and waved at the heavily freckled, red headed, green eyed young woman. The young Lady chuckled and waved back at the Crown Prince.

Mary dismissed everybody except the guards and sat down on the chairs as they were set up and pulled out for them. Kenna and Greer followed, before her half brother finished the small squared-circle of seats. Mary sat her beloved son on her lap as he eagerly reached for the little cakes held on silver trays.

"So, what has happened?" Mary asked Kenna, who had massively tamed herself over the last little while. Ever since she became a mother, in fact.

"Well, you know that I spent a few weeks in France with Bash?" Kenna asked.

"Of course," Mary nodded, crumbling a piece of cake on a small tray for James.

"He sends word from Francis," she revealed.

"Oh?" Mary replied, hating how her body tensed at the mention of her estranged husband.

"Yes, he wishes to come and see you and James." Kenna revealed. Mary laughed.

"I highly doubt that. He's had six months to send word, and nothing." Mary rolled her eyes.

"He's a King, he is a busy man. Plus, he's dealing with his mother and the mother of his child." Kenna added. Mary frowned.

"You don't refer to her as Lola anymore?" Mary asked, curiosity peaking.

"No. She betrayed you, committed treason. Everybody in Europe knows about it, she's labelled his whore, nobody will marry her. You know what the Flemming's did when they found out just after we returned. I may have done something similar in the past, but I was young and stupid, what she did is different and worse. Plus, Henry and I never had a bastard together. A lifetime ago, I congratulated her, told her a mistress was a great title to have, but not anymore. She's brought shame and disgrace." Kenna shrugged. Mary smiled at her.

"How you've matured," Mary smiled.

"One must, being a mother. Plus, the crown changes everything," Kenna smiled back. Mary chuckled.

"Besides the point, why now? Why does he want to see his son now? James doesn't know him." Mary replied, smiling down at her little son as he looked up and around at the mention of his name, face and dirty with cake and sugar. Mary smiled down at him, kissing his raven curls, before helping her half brother clean up the little Prince.

"I think he realised his mistake, the fact that he shouldn't have claimed him. You proved to him he was wrong, proved to him that if he claimed John, you'd leave him. And, you did. I think he wants to make it right. If not for you, than for your son." Kenna finished.

"I won't keep him from James, he's welcome to see him. Growing up without a father is hard, but as far as I am concerned, he's lost me. His choices have ruined us. And we can never go back." Mary finished. She knew she believed and felt what she said, but there was still a tiny ember of uncertainty alight in her heart. The part that still believed in fairy tale love and true romance. She knew she'd have to quell that part of her, and quickly.

_For, happily ever afters do not belong in the history books._

Baron Sebastian de Portiers really had no idea why he still stood where he did. He knew he should never have turned the dozen corners and corridors, knew he should turn around, but couldn't bring himself to turn and leave now that he had reached these familiar chambers.

They were his, when he was a child. Diane's old chambers just down the hall. They had lived in much simpler when the long dead Henry hadn't been King, but the heir. Before Francis was born, he had lived in the nicer chambers. But, of course, the Crown Prince came before the Bastard.

Didn't Francis understand that?

The King of France had left the chambers around an hour previously. That, for some reason, was his que to start walking, when word had reached that the King had finally retired for the night. Lola, his rumoured mistress, had left hours ago, unable to stay with her child with the judging looks from nannies and nursemaids. She claimed she needed rest, but Bash knew better. He could recognise the look of resentment anywhere, from a foolish courtier to the man who had sired her bastard child and forced her to stay, where everybody knew she'd have a better life elsewhere.

She, and the child.

Bash could understand that reason better than Lola did. Often, he imagined what his life would have been like if his mother hadn't been who she was, was able to run away and give him a better life, not one drowning in jealousy and betrayal of royal life.

Bash frowned, seeing the fact that there were no nursemaids with the young boy, nobody observing him as he slept. He was the King's eldest son, after all. Bastard or not.

The nursery was quite dim, no candles, just a small spark in the hearth, bright enough for warmth and light, but dim enough to be put out should it get out of hand. The windows were clamped shut, the royal family undoubtedly not wanting the child to freeze to death.

There, in the middle of the room, was the cot. Jean Valois, the young, bastard son of France, baron of Velay, lay in the cot. He was the subject of so much controversy, the reason why the Empress and Queen had packed up and took her household and son with her. And yet, he slept so soundlessly, warm in a knitted white blanket Lola had made, face the picture of peace and serenity, as if he cared of nothing in the world.

Francis' son. Francis and Lola's son.

In complete honesty, he had no idea why Francis had claimed him. It was obvious why King Henry had kept him. Diane was his mistress and -still to have a child with Catherine- he wanted a child of his own. Something that was his and only his, an inarguable feat. A child who belonged to the mistress he loved, not to the wife he hated.

Bash was aware that Henry loved him. Loved him a million times more than he had ever claimed to love Francis or any of his other legitimate children. They had much in common, and although he was starting to turn out like Henry just before Mary came to court -both times- Francis would forever be more like his mother than his father.

No matter what people thought, including his own wife or Francis', Lola was not Francis' mistress. And Francis did not love her. Francis still and forever would love Mary. He just didn't know how to prove it to her, after hurting her so many times. No matter his reasons for claiming and keeping Jean, Bash didn't think one of them was to hurt his wife.

Mary, the now far away Empress and Queen, would wake up every day until she met her maker, with the stone cold knowledge that -although she had birthed Francis' legitimate son- she had not birthed his first son. Catherine had lived the same way, with the knowledge that although she gave birth to five of Henry's sons, she had not given him his first son, nor child. And, if Mary didn't grow to resent Jean, like Catherine had resented him all of his life, then Mary would quite confidently be the strongest woman Bash had ever met.

Bash jumped as the three year old suddenly let out a cry. He muffled a breathy curse, looking down at the little boy, before glancing over at the still ajar door to his left, wondering if he should leave and wait for one of the nurses to come and take care of the toddler.

But, he knew that there had been multiple nights, when he was in Jean's place, where he gained no sleep, nobody there to soothe his cries that boomed through the night.

Slowly, Sebastian walked forwards until his thighs and calves touched the cot. Slow, a man walking to his own execution would have walked quicker. He stared aimlessly down at the red faced child who punched the air furiously.

The child. The child would cause Mary so much pain as they both aged. The child who was already strongly disliked by his far away half brother, who already strongly disliked him in return. The child who would live out every day in the painful, resentment filled life of the bastard son of a King, as Bash himself had done.

Jean was not the monster Catherine imagined Bash to be, the Queen who had openly treated him with scorn, hatred and neglect all of his life, who still did it to this day. Although he still was, he was not -physically- the hideous creature that would make Francis look bad in his court and country, in his wife's Empire, weak, sentimental for claiming a bastard.

Jean was simply a child. One like any other. Oddly, straight golden hair. The colour belonged to his father, the straightness completely out of the blue, for both Francis and Lola held curls. His loud cry belonged to Lola, too loud to be the soft spoken one of the once Crown Prince. He was short, short like Lola, pale skin almost sickly. Even still, not a mark was on him, apart from his pink cheeks.

Jean screamed and screamed, eyes clamped shut. Bash still stared.

Arms moving by themselves, he picked up the bastard child of his King and held him to his chest. Although short, he was heavy, far heavier than what Bash remembered James to be. He simply held the boy that would one day be him, but would not be in the position he was in. James would simply never hold him in high regard as Francis did him. The two already didn't like or trust each other, unable to even be in the same room as each other. They would grow up -together or apart- and they would fight. And, Jean would never win. Already, he did and forever would stand in James' shadow, as Bash had done Francis'.

The moment he was held, Jean opened his eyes and stared up at Bash, their eyes connecting. He calmed, clearly recognising Bash, but just stared.

Thankfully, the child held Lola's eyes.

Wide, as if Bash held answers to everything in the world. And, for a moment, Sebastian believed he did, too.

He remembered a time when Francis had looked upon him with the same expression. Innocent, wide eyes, burrowing into his soul.

Bash remembered the few days Catherine had been in labour for, surprisingly. Diane constantly told him that he simply imagined it, but it had always felt so real.

Diane had been worried, clearly because Francis was going to be the boy the relm needed, worried that she'd loose Henry's love. Henry himself had been worried, for reasons still unclear to him. And, replicating his parents, Bash himself had been anxious. Confined to his chambers, because mama didn't want him to hear the Dauphine's screams.

Days and days of being locked in Diane's chambers, before he could hear joyous celebrating. A boy had been borne to the Dauphine of France. The Duke of Anjou, future Crown Prince and King of France. An heir.

Not understanding why Francis' birthday was so much widely celebrated than his own would ever be. With every passing year, the sickly little boy became healthier and healthier. Bash didn't understand why this strange, enigmatic, pretty, dark haired creature from across the water had come for Francis, not him, when the little future Dauphin and King was just about to turn five or six.

But, even so, in that moment, he'd instantly wanted to see his new little brother, even if they shared different mothers. Having to wait impatiently for weeks until his father had finally shown him his little, fair haired newborn brother who had almost the same eyes he did.

Sebastian jumped once more, hearing a familiar, unexpected voice.

"I didn't think you'd be in here." the voice said. He swallowed a curse, looking behind him, seeing the King of France in all his late night Majesty in the doorway, not a guard or nursemaid in sight.

"Francis!" he said, the surprise and uncertainty clearer than the sun after a storm. He figured that Francis would be asleep by now, having left the room more than an hour ago.

He'd seen Francis and his bastard together before, but seeing them now, with Mary and James gone, made everything so, so real. Realer than they'd been when Francis had returned nine months ago, realer than when Francis was passed his bastard son at the child' christening, Queen nowhere in sight, realer than ever before.

Jean was Francis' bastard son. Just like Bash had been Henry's bastard.

Living life as a bastard was dangerous, a point never more driven home than when Henry tried to have Bash killed on multiple occasions. It didn't matter that Henry had been mad at the time -even attempting to kill Francis at one point- the point was hammered home. Living as a bastard was far more dangerous than living without a father.

How could Francis not understand this?

The King walked over to his bastard brother and bastard son, watching as Jean started to blurt laughter when his father came into his field of vision.

"Are you angry with me, too?" Francis suddenly asked. Bash blinked, momentarily speechless. He knew that many had given their negative opinion on Francis and his bastard over the last nine months, did he think his brother, a fellow bastard, held the same?

"No, your highness."

Francis sighed. "It's been months now, you can tell me the truth," he sighed again.

"I-I-" Bash stuttered. "I don't think you should have claimed him. He'll live in danger for the rest of his life. James doesn't get on with him, no matter how far they are apart. What do you think will happen when James becomes King? You know how perceptive he is."

Francis sighed. "I know. I shouldn't have brought him here. It was the better thing to do, to let him go with Lola, or to let them live quietly on the grounds, my little secret. It would have been better for him, Lola-" his eyes closed. Bash frowned deeply. "For Mary and James." he exhaled, not bothering to hide the longing he felt for his estranged wife and stranger of a son. "When we were growing up, I know your life was never easy, I know what father tried to do. But," he sighed again, before the little boy reached out and grabbed Francis' coat. He smiled widely at him.

"You needn't feel the need to explain your feelings on this to be, Francis." Bash said, although Kenna's words in his head told him he needed to know. He and Kenna had felt some sort of duty to make the explosion of Francis and his bastard and the mother of his bastard have the lease effect on Mary and James. This simply seemed like the best possible time to do so.

"I just-" he sighed. "I couldn't let him go." he looked at his bastard with such love and adoration that he wondered if, long ago, Henry felt the same when he looked at him when he stood in Jean's shoes.

Francis' lack of further speech told him he wanted to hear something, but Bash had no idea what. Reassurances? Being told that he could get Mary and James back? Bash honestly didn't know if he could.

"He might have had a better life elsewhere. Safer, being a secret. You would have had a better life if you had sent him away." Francis' looked at him, piercing gaze penetrating his soul it felt like. He refused to shiver, carrying on with his words. "You and Mary," he used the one topic that made Francis break. "You and Mary and James." he continued.

"I know." Francis sighed, looking away. "Keeping him, keeping him here with Lola was selfish. I know what it would do to my marriage and to my heirs future-" he trailed a bit. Bash blinked. He didn't miss how Francis used heir and not son to describe his younger child. He couldn't help but notice the fact that Henry referred to him, Francis, as his heir, his usurper. Only a handful of times did he say son. Was Francis turning into Henry? Were he and Mary destined to become his parents? From where they were now, it sure seemed like it. "but Jean is my son. The moment I held him in my arms almost three years ago, I knew I could never let him go. I didn't want to. He-" Francis stopped, swallowing. "he's my son. And I loved him. I love him."

"Francis, Mary made it clear what she'd do if you claimed him. She's take your son and leave for her own countries. And you let her. You picked your bastard over your heir. Did you learn nothing from Father? I may have been the favourite, but you always came first out of the two of us. Do you have any idea what he's going to do when he grows up?" Bash asked. Francis looked at him again. "He is perceptive. He reacted to you how he did, not because he didn't know you, but because he knows you hurt the one who he loves the most, his mother. He doesn't know how you did, but he knows you did. It won't take long for him to figure out what you did. And, when he does, he will grow up hating you and this boy more than any of the people of France or the empire. Mary has never lied to him, if he asks what you did to her, she will tell him, leave him to draw his own conclusions, but she will tell him. And, when he's emperor, he will destroy this child and his mother. I say this not to hurt you, but I am stating facts. He will, you know that." Francis looked away again. "The boy will move heaven and earth to make his mother happy, and when she isn't there to control him, to settle him, he will raise hell to avenge those who have hurt her. That's who James is. He is much like you and Catherine in that way. Little Crown Prince James has Catherine's vindictive heart to those who hurts his family and always want to protect those they love. You have that, too, And to him, James, nobody means as much to him as Mary does." Bash paused. Francis said nothing, just started pacing aimlessly, running his hands through his hair, before they found the pockets of his green satin and velvet jacket.

Bash continued. "Mary hasn't poisoned his mind against you, James reacted how he did because he didn't know you. You're a stranger to your heir, like our father was a stranger to you. We hated him at the end. Do you want that for James? You must think of him, not yourself or Jean. James." Bash accentuated.

"Of course not," Francis looked away.

"You didn't do anything to stop it, however. You were busy doting on him," Bash looked down at the child, placing him in the crib, the little boy now asleep. "to notice that your wife and son had left. And you did nothing to stop them."

"Stop," Francis said softly, looking away. "Stop it." he finished.

"No. You told me not to refer to you as my king. Now, you are my brother and I am telling you what you've done." Francis looked back at him. "You knew Mary would leave you and take James if you claimed Jean, and you did. They did. You could have stopped them, but you did not."

"I know," he whispered.

"She hasn't poisoned his mind against you, although she could, she hasn't. When you were gone, thought to be dead, she'd spend hours in the nursery with him, crying softly. She'd tell him stories of you, your wedding and how good of a man you were. Now, you must prove it."

"I don't know how."

"Figure it out. There's still time to change all of this. If they don't come back, go to them. Your wife has raised your son well, you don't want him to grow up how you did? You don't want to become father, have Mary become Catherine?"

"Of course not, but-"

"No. No buts. You did this. Now, you have to fix it. Before it destroys your marriage and your son's future."


	9. Chapter 9

"Mama!" an enthusiastic little chirp erupted through the serene mountain tops. A seventh arrow landed close to her others, and she beamed excitedly at it, lowering the bow she held in her hand, turning to the small boy who held every inch of her heart. The young Empress turned from her target practice to look behind her, seeing Kenna, Greer, her elder half brother and beloved little son coming towards her. She smiled wide at all of them. Greer held her newborn baby girl, Rose, in her arms, whilst James walked with the little fifteen month old product of Kenna and Bash's love, tiny Meredith. The sweet little girl held Bash's eyes and Kenna's hair, the perfect mix of the two of them.

Almost six months had passed since their return to Scotland. France had made them all so unhappy towards the end of their tenure there. With the whole Lola-Francis-Jean fiasco, the Empress craved to leave it behind. So, she did. The day Francis announced he was claiming his bastard, Mary had packed up her household and set sail to Scotland, all without the King figuring it out. It wasn't so hard, really. He was too distracted by the little bastard boy anyway. But, it had proved into a blessing in disguise. He could focus on his little, sinful family and his country, whilst Mary could focus on her heir and her empire. Besides, the little boy who held her heart wouldn't be missing out on much. He had father figures, and had never accepted his father anyway, plus, the child never contented as deep as he did when he and his mother were in the land of their Scottish blood. Mary had never felt more at peace than she did when in the land of her blood, so deeply connected to her father and the Kings before her. It made her feel like a better ruler, which in some ways, she was. France was behind her. She would assist her whenever France needed it, with the might of her combined army and the power and money of her empire, but France directly linked her to Francis, and she would happily spend the rest of her life not living with the reminder of his betrayal and her pain.

Mary now had complete focus on her empire, with France being steadily governed by it's very alive King. With intelligent governing, tolerant ruling and some risky treaties equalling religion that seemed to have became fruitful. The Pope hadn't been too happy with her, but some specific bribes had made most of her troubles go away for the time being. Those who were uneasy about her French upbringing had been silenced, as well, resourceful actions, bribes of gold and jewels, land and titles had silenced those who resented her for the whole ordeal with Darnley -who lived comfortably in southern Wales in a small manor house with a generous income and a comfortable title, the option of wedding whomever he wanted making him do whatever he could to assist her in making the mess go away. The man had powerful connections, after all. And, as long as she kept Lady Lennox away from her impressionable, sometimes naive, son, he would continue to do so.

However, ruling an empire alone had proved to be a large challenge. Her time with James was vastly limited, especially with her boy starting casual lessons with the best governess in the country. However, knowing full well the consequences of a lack of mothering and a mother figure in life -Mary's own mother's coldness throughout their lives and the fact Catherine had always disliked her- the Empress always made sure to see him at their daily meals and before he went to sleep, no matter how busy the day became. To this day, their connection remained as strong as ever.

Mary beamed at him, kneeling to accept his little running body as he released his half-cousin's hand to rush into the arms of his mother. He rushed into the silver ball gown she wore, the tight bodice with white lace embroidery becoming crushed by the little boys' tight embrace. Mary heard Greer laugh as James pressed a kiss to her cheek, enjoying every moment he had with his mother. She picked him up off the ground, resting him on her hip and the slight puff of her skirts, placing the bow and arrows on a near bye table and walking over to the contingent of those she loved.

"Mary," the Earl of Moray said, leading the triplet of bows, before standing tall and smiling at his young namesake as the boy started to play with the lace that fell down Mary's skirts and the silver satin belt she wore, tied in a bow at the front.

"I am glad to see you. How was your trip to London?" she asked her elder half brother.

"Fruitful, sister. The slight animosity to your throne that couldn't be helped by Lord Mason was quickly dissolved." James smiled softly.

"I am glad." Mary replied.

"Shall we have some tea? I have much to discuss with you." Kenna said, gesturing to the small table being set up by servants, more carrying chairs, others carrying trays of cups, pots and small cakes.

"Of course," Mary nodded, as Lady Eva, her handmaiden, tied a white fur lined silver and white cape around her throat. Little James squealed and waved at the heavily freckled, red headed, green eyed young woman. The young Lady chuckled and waved back at the Crown Prince.

Mary dismissed everybody except the guards and sat down on the chairs as they were set up and pulled out for them. Kenna and Greer followed, before her half brother finished the small squared-circle of seats. Mary sat her beloved son on her lap as he eagerly reached for the little cakes held on silver trays.

"So, what has happened?" Mary asked Kenna, who had massively tamed herself over the last little while. Ever since she became a mother, in fact.

"Well, you know that I spent a few weeks in France with Bash?" Kenna asked.

"Of course," Mary nodded, crumbling a piece of cake on a small tray for James.

"He sends word from Francis," she revealed.

"Oh?" Mary replied, hating how her body tensed at the mention of her estranged husband.

"Yes, he wishes to come and see you and James." Kenna revealed. Mary laughed.

"I highly doubt that. He's had six months to send word, and nothing." Mary rolled her eyes.

"He's a King, he is a busy man. Plus, he's dealing with his mother and the mother of his child." Kenna added. Mary frowned.

"You don't refer to her as Lola anymore?" Mary asked, curiosity peaking.

"No. She betrayed you, committed treason. Everybody in Europe knows about it, she's labelled his whore, nobody will marry her. You know what the Flemming's did when they found out just after we returned. I may have done something similar in the past, but I was young and stupid, what she did is different and worse. Plus, Henry and I never had a bastard together. A lifetime ago, I congratulated her, told her a mistress was a great title to have, but not anymore. She's brought shame and disgrace." Kenna shrugged. Mary smiled at her.

"How you've matured," Mary smiled.

"One must, being a mother. Plus, the crown changes everything," Kenna smiled back. Mary chuckled.

"Besides the point, why now? Why does he want to see his son now? James doesn't know him." Mary replied, smiling down at her little son as he looked up and around at the mention of his name, face and dirty with cake and sugar. Mary smiled down at him, kissing his raven curls, before helping her half brother clean up the little Prince.

"I think he realised his mistake, the fact that he shouldn't have claimed him. You proved to him he was wrong, proved to him that if he claimed John, you'd leave him. And, you did. I think he wants to make it right. If not for you, than for your son." Kenna finished.

"I won't keep him from James, he's welcome to see him. Growing up without a father is hard, but as far as I am concerned, he's lost me. His choices have ruined us. And we can never go back." Mary finished. She knew she believed and felt what she said, but there was still a tiny ember of uncertainty alight in her heart. The part that still believed in fairy tale love and true romance. She knew she'd have to quell that part of her, and quickly.

_For, happily ever afters do not belong in the history books._

Baron Sebastian de Portiers really had no idea why he still stood where he did. He knew he should never have turned the dozen corners and corridors, knew he should turn around, but couldn't bring himself to turn and leave now that he had reached these familiar chambers.

They were his, when he was a child. Diane's old chambers just down the hall. They had lived in much simpler when the long dead Henry hadn't been King, but the heir. Before Francis was born, he had lived in the nicer chambers. But, of course, the Crown Prince came before the Bastard.

Didn't Francis understand that?

The King of France had left the chambers around an hour previously. That, for some reason, was his que to start walking, when word had reached that the King had finally retired for the night. Lola, his rumoured mistress, had left hours ago, unable to stay with her child with the judging looks from nannies and nursemaids. She claimed she needed rest, but Bash knew better. He could recognise the look of resentment anywhere, from a foolish courtier to the man who had sired her bastard child and forced her to stay, where everybody knew she'd have a better life elsewhere.

She, and the child.

Bash could understand that reason better than Lola did. Often, he imagined what his life would have been like if his mother hadn't been who she was, was able to run away and give him a better life, not one drowning in jealousy and betrayal of royal life.

Bash frowned, seeing the fact that there were no nursemaids with the young boy, nobody observing him as he slept. He was the King's eldest son, after all. Bastard or not.

The nursery was quite dim, no candles, just a small spark in the hearth, bright enough for warmth and light, but dim enough to be put out should it get out of hand. The windows were clamped shut, the royal family undoubtedly not wanting the child to freeze to death.

There, in the middle of the room, was the cot. Jean Valois, the young, bastard son of France, baron of Velay, lay in the cot. He was the subject of so much controversy, the reason why the Empress and Queen had packed up and took her household and son with her. And yet, he slept so soundlessly, warm in a knitted white blanket Lola had made, face the picture of peace and serenity, as if he cared of nothing in the world.

Francis' son. Francis and Lola's son.

In complete honesty, he had no idea why Francis had claimed him. It was obvious why King Henry had kept him. Diane was his mistress and -still to have a child with Catherine- he wanted a child of his own. Something that was his and only his, an inarguable feat. A child who belonged to the mistress he loved, not to the wife he hated.

Bash was aware that Henry loved him. Loved him a million times more than he had ever claimed to love Francis or any of his other legitimate children. They had much in common, and although he was starting to turn out like Henry just before Mary came to court -both times- Francis would forever be more like his mother than his father.

No matter what people thought, including his own wife or Francis', Lola was not Francis' mistress. And Francis did not love her. Francis still and forever would love Mary. He just didn't know how to prove it to her, after hurting her so many times. No matter his reasons for claiming and keeping Jean, Bash didn't think one of them was to hurt his wife.

Mary, the now far away Empress and Queen, would wake up every day until she met her maker, with the stone cold knowledge that -although she had birthed Francis' legitimate son- she had not birthed his first son. Catherine had lived the same way, with the knowledge that although she gave birth to five of Henry's sons, she had not given him his first son, nor child. And, if Mary didn't grow to resent Jean, like Catherine had resented him all of his life, then Mary would quite confidently be the strongest woman Bash had ever met.

Bash jumped as the three year old suddenly let out a cry. He muffled a breathy curse, looking down at the little boy, before glancing over at the still ajar door to his left, wondering if he should leave and wait for one of the nurses to come and take care of the toddler.

But, he knew that there had been multiple nights, when he was in Jean's place, where he gained no sleep, nobody there to soothe his cries that boomed through the night.

Slowly, Sebastian walked forwards until his thighs and calves touched the cot. Slow, a man walking to his own execution would have walked quicker. He stared aimlessly down at the red faced child who punched the air furiously.

The child. The child would cause Mary so much pain as they both aged. The child who was already strongly disliked by his far away half brother, who already strongly disliked him in return. The child who would live out every day in the painful, resentment filled life of the bastard son of a King, as Bash himself had done.

Jean was not the monster Catherine imagined Bash to be, the Queen who had openly treated him with scorn, hatred and neglect all of his life, who still did it to this day. Although he still was, he was not -physically- the hideous creature that would make Francis look bad in his court and country, in his wife's Empire, weak, sentimental for claiming a bastard.

Jean was simply a child. One like any other. Oddly, straight golden hair. The colour belonged to his father, the straightness completely out of the blue, for both Francis and Lola held curls. His loud cry belonged to Lola, too loud to be the soft spoken one of the once Crown Prince. He was short, short like Lola, pale skin almost sickly. Even still, not a mark was on him, apart from his pink cheeks.

Jean screamed and screamed, eyes clamped shut. Bash still stared.

Arms moving by themselves, he picked up the bastard child of his King and held him to his chest. Although short, he was heavy, far heavier than what Bash remembered James to be. He simply held the boy that would one day be him, but would not be in the position he was in. James would simply never hold him in high regard as Francis did him. The two already didn't like or trust each other, unable to even be in the same room as each other. They would grow up -together or apart- and they would fight. And, Jean would never win. Already, he did and forever would stand in James' shadow, as Bash had done Francis'.

The moment he was held, Jean opened his eyes and stared up at Bash, their eyes connecting. He calmed, clearly recognising Bash, but just stared.

Thankfully, the child held Lola's eyes.

Wide, as if Bash held answers to everything in the world. And, for a moment, Sebastian believed he did, too.

He remembered a time when Francis had looked upon him with the same expression. Innocent, wide eyes, burrowing into his soul.

Bash remembered the few days Catherine had been in labour for, surprisingly. Diane constantly told him that he simply imagined it, but it had always felt so real.

Diane had been worried, clearly because Francis was going to be the boy the relm needed, worried that she'd loose Henry's love. Henry himself had been worried, for reasons still unclear to him. And, replicating his parents, Bash himself had been anxious. Confined to his chambers, because mama didn't want him to hear the Dauphine's screams.

Days and days of being locked in Diane's chambers, before he could hear joyous celebrating. A boy had been borne to the Dauphine of France. The Duke of Anjou, future Crown Prince and King of France. An heir.

Not understanding why Francis' birthday was so much widely celebrated than his own would ever be. With every passing year, the sickly little boy became healthier and healthier. Bash didn't understand why this strange, enigmatic, pretty, dark haired creature from across the water had come for Francis, not him, when the little future Dauphin and King was just about to turn five or six.

But, even so, in that moment, he'd instantly wanted to see his new little brother, even if they shared different mothers. Having to wait impatiently for weeks until his father had finally shown him his little, fair haired newborn brother who had almost the same eyes he did.

Sebastian jumped once more, hearing a familiar, unexpected voice.

"I didn't think you'd be in here." the voice said. He swallowed a curse, looking behind him, seeing the King of France in all his late night Majesty in the doorway, not a guard or nursemaid in sight.

"Francis!" he said, the surprise and uncertainty clearer than the sun after a storm. He figured that Francis would be asleep by now, having left the room more than an hour ago.

He'd seen Francis and his bastard together before, but seeing them now, with Mary and James gone, made everything so, so real. Realer than they'd been when Francis had returned nine months ago, realer than when Francis was passed his bastard son at the child' christening, Queen nowhere in sight, realer than ever before.

Jean was Francis' bastard son. Just like Bash had been Henry's bastard.

Living life as a bastard was dangerous, a point never more driven home than when Henry tried to have Bash killed on multiple occasions. It didn't matter that Henry had been mad at the time -even attempting to kill Francis at one point- the point was hammered home. Living as a bastard was far more dangerous than living without a father.

How could Francis not understand this?

The King walked over to his bastard brother and bastard son, watching as Jean started to blurt laughter when his father came into his field of vision.

"Are you angry with me, too?" Francis suddenly asked. Bash blinked, momentarily speechless. He knew that many had given their negative opinion on Francis and his bastard over the last nine months, did he think his brother, a fellow bastard, held the same?

"No, your highness."

Francis sighed. "It's been months now, you can tell me the truth," he sighed again.

"I-I-" Bash stuttered. "I don't think you should have claimed him. He'll live in danger for the rest of his life. James doesn't get on with him, no matter how far they are apart. What do you think will happen when James becomes King? You know how perceptive he is."

Francis sighed. "I know. I shouldn't have brought him here. It was the better thing to do, to let him go with Lola, or to let them live quietly on the grounds, my little secret. It would have been better for him, Lola-" his eyes closed. Bash frowned deeply. "For Mary and James." he exhaled, not bothering to hide the longing he felt for his estranged wife and stranger of a son. "When we were growing up, I know your life was never easy, I know what father tried to do. But," he sighed again, before the little boy reached out and grabbed Francis' coat. He smiled widely at him.

"You needn't feel the need to explain your feelings on this to be, Francis." Bash said, although Kenna's words in his head told him he needed to know. He and Kenna had felt some sort of duty to make the explosion of Francis and his bastard and the mother of his bastard have the lease effect on Mary and James. This simply seemed like the best possible time to do so.

"I just-" he sighed. "I couldn't let him go." he looked at his bastard with such love and adoration that he wondered if, long ago, Henry felt the same when he looked at him when he stood in Jean's shoes.

Francis' lack of further speech told him he wanted to hear something, but Bash had no idea what. Reassurances? Being told that he could get Mary and James back? Bash honestly didn't know if he could.

"He might have had a better life elsewhere. Safer, being a secret. You would have had a better life if you had sent him away." Francis' looked at him, piercing gaze penetrating his soul it felt like. He refused to shiver, carrying on with his words. "You and Mary," he used the one topic that made Francis break. "You and Mary and James." he continued.

"I know." Francis sighed, looking away. "Keeping him, keeping him here with Lola was selfish. I know what it would do to my marriage and to my heirs future-" he trailed a bit. Bash blinked. He didn't miss how Francis used heir and not son to describe his younger child. He couldn't help but notice the fact that Henry referred to him, Francis, as his heir, his usurper. Only a handful of times did he say son. Was Francis turning into Henry? Were he and Mary destined to become his parents? From where they were now, it sure seemed like it. "but Jean is my son. The moment I held him in my arms almost three years ago, I knew I could never let him go. I didn't want to. He-" Francis stopped, swallowing. "he's my son. And I loved him. I love him."

"Francis, Mary made it clear what she'd do if you claimed him. She's take your son and leave for her own countries. And you let her. You picked your bastard over your heir. Did you learn nothing from Father? I may have been the favourite, but you always came first out of the two of us. Do you have any idea what he's going to do when he grows up?" Bash asked. Francis looked at him again. "He is perceptive. He reacted to you how he did, not because he didn't know you, but because he knows you hurt the one who he loves the most, his mother. He doesn't know how you did, but he knows you did. It won't take long for him to figure out what you did. And, when he does, he will grow up hating you and this boy more than any of the people of France or the empire. Mary has never lied to him, if he asks what you did to her, she will tell him, leave him to draw his own conclusions, but she will tell him. And, when he's emperor, he will destroy this child and his mother. I say this not to hurt you, but I am stating facts. He will, you know that." Francis looked away again. "The boy will move heaven and earth to make his mother happy, and when she isn't there to control him, to settle him, he will raise hell to avenge those who have hurt her. That's who James is. He is much like you and Catherine in that way. Little Crown Prince James has Catherine's vindictive heart to those who hurts his family and always want to protect those they love. You have that, too, And to him, James, nobody means as much to him as Mary does." Bash paused. Francis said nothing, just started pacing aimlessly, running his hands through his hair, before they found the pockets of his green satin and velvet jacket.

Bash continued. "Mary hasn't poisoned his mind against you, James reacted how he did because he didn't know you. You're a stranger to your heir, like our father was a stranger to you. We hated him at the end. Do you want that for James? You must think of him, not yourself or Jean. James." Bash accentuated.

"Of course not," Francis looked away.

"You didn't do anything to stop it, however. You were busy doting on him," Bash looked down at the child, placing him in the crib, the little boy now asleep. "to notice that your wife and son had left. And you did nothing to stop them."

"Stop," Francis said softly, looking away. "Stop it." he finished.

"No. You told me not to refer to you as my king. Now, you are my brother and I am telling you what you've done." Francis looked back at him. "You knew Mary would leave you and take James if you claimed Jean, and you did. They did. You could have stopped them, but you did not."

"I know," he whispered.

"She hasn't poisoned his mind against you, although she could, she hasn't. When you were gone, thought to be dead, she'd spend hours in the nursery with him, crying softly. She'd tell him stories of you, your wedding and how good of a man you were. Now, you must prove it."

"I don't know how."

"Figure it out. There's still time to change all of this. If they don't come back, go to them. Your wife has raised your son well, you don't want him to grow up how you did? You don't want to become father, have Mary become Catherine?"

"Of course not, but-"

"No. No buts. You did this. Now, you have to fix it. Before it destroys your marriage and your son's future."


	10. Chapter 10

"Your Majesty," Francis' page said, walking up to the King of France. He bowed, handing Francis a piece of folded parchment. "Word from the German Ambassador, your Grace." the dark haired page said, bowing and leaving the room.

"What is it?" Bash asked, sipping a wine goblet.

"He says his master does not approve of my continued estrangement from the Empress and wishes to have an immediate audience with the both of us." Francis signed, letting the letter fall from his fingers and onto the table. "I cannot think of politics right now." Francis sighed.

"You have to. You have to be King, now. Running away to the woman who bore you a child and leaving your country to regent rule is no longer an option." Bash almost snapped.

"You still resent me for my impulsive choice?" Francis grained.

"Kenna resents you, for she is loyal to her Empress. Whatever Mary feels, Kenna feels. And whatever the woman I love feels, I feel." Bash explained. "I must agree, as well. I am separated from my wife and daughter because of your choice." Bash almost glared.

"Mary left." Francis reminded. Bash swallowed back a sigh, the kind of sigh that hadn't tried to come out since Francis was fooling around with Olivia and had tried to marry her.

"Mary made good on her word. She warned you she would leave and she did. Don't blame her for your mistake." Bash almost glared.

"Must you insult my judgement?" Francis asked, leaning back on his chair.

"You may be King but I am your elder brother. You have me here to give my honest opinion." Bash reminded.

"Come, child." Catherine's soft voice said, drawing Mary's attention from the window she was perched on the sill of. The pregnant Queen Consort of France wore a black gown, covering every inch of her body except for her face, black lace gloves covering her hands.

Everyday, Mary gave up a little bit of hope that her beloved husband was out there somewhere, alive. The child inside of her was her salvation, but also her torturer. One, last piece of Francis grew inside of her, she never even got the chance to tell him of her findings, before he was off riding away like some reckless, romantic martyr, saving the mother of his child from the jaws of death that she'd thrown herself into willingly.

Her stomach grew, as did the hole in her heart. He'd been gone for months, her stomach prominent and obvious, large and quickened with child. He comforted her and tortured her, a constant reminder of Francis, both a miracle and a curse.

"Come," Catherine, also donned in black, said quietly, reaching a hand to Mary's arm. Like her daughter in law, she too lost a bit of hope that her golden child still walked amongst the living. His unborn child that grew inside his wife the only piece of him they had left. "fresh air will do you good, Mary. Your child requires it," Catherine whispered, placing a hand on her stomach, the other on her back to steady her, unsteady balance and all.

Slowly, the duo made their way out towards the gardens, silent in pre-meditated mourning. She sat Mary down first, before settling beside her pregnant daughter in law.

Where was he? Mary thought to herself. If he wasn't dead, where could he possibly be? Was he going around the country, helping to rebuild it after the plague? Did Lola or the child survive? Was he with them? Did he see his bastard child being born? Did the six month old light up whenever it saw him? Did Francis' eyes light up when he saw his child? Did it toddle uneasily towards him? Would that child be the only one he'd ever know?

Subconsciously, Mary's left fist tightened. How could he leave her? Pregnant, with his child, no less?

"I know," Catherine quietly said. Mary turned to her, frowning.

How? the silent question was loud.

"I know how you feel. It was hard, so, so hard, being without a child and having to watch that little bast-" Catherine cut herself off. "watching Bash run around and play whilst I felt alone."

Catherine glanced up from where she had once stood, ushering a very pregnant Mary out of the castle for the first time in weeks. The ghost of the Queen and the unborn King still remained, six months after their departure from the castle and the country.

The happy squeals of the crown prince of France still echoed in the hallways, joining with the giggles of long dead little Prince Louis. She could hear the ghosts of her children that had grown into adults, their childish spirits twining with their adult forms. Gasping for breath, she imagined the ghosts of Victoria and Joan, running around in girlish pinks and purples. They spun each other in circles and chased each other around the corridors. She saw the ghosts of young Elisabeth and Claude, the elders' soft, melodic giggles, the sound of Claude's loud, bellowing laughs.

That was all she wanted for her son. Her favourite, her golden child. To listen to the sounds of his own giggling children.

For him to be happy.

Was that such a crime?

Catherine ached from the loss of Mary and James, knew that if she hadn't instigated Francis claiming his son, the duo would still be here. She knew that if she had kept her mouth closed, the Queen Consort of France and the Dauphin would remain, but Catherine was a mother, she hurt when her son hurt. And, no matter how justified Mary's anger was, that anger saddened her favourite child. And, his own made him happy, in the rare times she saw her bastard grandson and her eldest son together. As much as it would hurt Mary, she needed her son to be happy.

As horrible as it sounded, Catherine held the deepest compassion for Mary, but Francis was her child, her priority. She would rather have Mary unhappy than Francis to be the same.

As much as she missed Mary and James, she had to prioritise her son and his own son, rather than Mary and her son. Besides, they'd be alright, James adored Mary and the woman was a political genius, they'd always be safe in whatever country Mary ruled upon. And, if not, they'd always have position and station in France.

Should Mary and James ever return, Catherine knew it would hurt the Empress to see Jean and Lola. It would hurt Mary like Catherine had burned for three years in suffered silence. Unlike Mary, Bash's first two years of life had caused three miscarriages, making her resentment to the young bastard worse than ever.

Whilst Catherine didn't want Mary to suffer the way she suffered, she knew that if it spared her son unhappiness then she would permit it, all the while attempting to support the young woman as best she could.

But, Catherine knew Mary, and knew that Mary had far too much self respect to live like Catherine lived, if she had a choice in the matter, which she always did. Mary always had the option to leave, for she was a regnal queen, Catherine only a queen consort once upon a time. She had even more option and reason to leave after having James, a legitimate, strong male heir. Part of her knew that the young Scottish Empress would leave to her homeland to raise her child in complete happiness, rather than put herself through all that suffering for little to no reward.

Happiness is the one thing a Queen can never have. But, perhaps, an Empress could find a way.

The sight was completely maddening. Watching her sit contently on a teal silk settee, so beautiful, all alabaster and onyx. Serene, content, idealistic. He watched as she smiled down at their son, the future of an empire. The future of the world lay so happily in her arms. Outside, the thunderstorm danced to the tune of his inner emotions so well. The child, so perfect and sweet, innocent and ignorantly betrayed. At such a small age, he was so strong, symbolised so much more than simply the physical love between a King and a Queen.

The sight before him angered and contented him, two emotions in complete turmoil with each other. One battled the other, and they always would, until he looked away from the scene. It reminded him of his inadequacy, a relationship he did not share with this perfect little child. One he would never see. A depiction so impossibly perfect that it would never be seen the same way again. Well, he could see versions of it, of course. Another child, another woman. But, never would he lay eyes on the actual account of this scene.

He was supposed to give her that. And, he did. But, he also did not. He gave her the opportunity to have that, but he hadn't given her that. Complete and unbridled happiness, such contentment that it seemed impossible.

There was a soft smile on her face, one he hadn't seen in years. She looked so young, so beautiful. Soft raven locks fell over her, her offspring holding the moniker so perfect that it could never be anything else. The boy in her arms, laying so calmly with a hand reaching up towards her, he would never truly see. A version of him, yes. But, never the physical child in front of him. He would never see this child.

The King of France and Emperor of Britain stood silently, staring at the beautiful scene that he would never truly see. He would always be as he was now, just a little too far away from this unity and serenity to be a part of it. He would look at it, he could look at it, but he would never truly see it. It would play in front of his eyes like a production, but he would never truly see it.

What stood in front of Francis was not a physical woman. Nor a physical child. Just a painting. A once white canvas, some paint and visible brush strokes. But, the painting was so much more than that. It was what it always would be. A moment in time frozen in the world forever.

Mary sat on a teal silk settee, one that now rested in her old chambers in it's physical form. From what he could see, she wore a delicate white gown, waves of satin and lace falling so effortlessly around her arms and body that it could be excused for water. It wasn't too dissimilar from the gown she wore when Bash had been injured, in that whole situation with Thomas, the long dead Bastard Prince of Portugal. Nor was it too dissimilar to the gown she wore the first time they had met Philippe Nadine on their travels through France. But, it was so different to any other. Which, he knew, wasn't too dissimilar to what she actually was. Different. Different and changed. Her shoulders and chest were exposed, all glowing porcelain skin. She sat turned to the side a little.

On her neck hung a simple teardrop shaped pale sapphire, housed safely in a small row of clear diamonds. A matching coloured bow hung from her gown, falling just out of frame, frozen by paint, but so clearly moving. Her face was turned down, looking at her baby fondly. In her ears, small diamonds that glittered in this perfect, sun rising light.

A soft smile was on her lips, light in her forever frozen eyes. The curve of her soft jaw was highlighted, as was the contour of her cheekbone. Her hair, all raven locks, fell around them. One shoulder exposed, long locks pushed behind her shoulder, the other covered by the cascading fall of the curled raven sea. All untarnished and perfect, beauty beyond compare, as it always had been. And always would be.

In her arms lay James, no bigger than a newborn. All pale skin and raven coloured curls, laying in a knitted white blanket. On his little body, a white satin suit, one small foot poking out. Bare, porcelain and fresh, tiny and perfect, far from breakable but not too far from fragile. An eye was exposed, shimmering gold. His small nose wasn't too dissimilar to his own, pouty lips open in a soft, open grin. A hint of a little tongue could be seen, but the tiny hand reaching up to his mothers' chest and simple diamond. Or, maybe her heart. But, he and only he held it.

Something he, the King and father himself, would never have.

"So, what are you going to do about that?" a voice said. Francis jumped, turning to his black leather clad half brother.

"I-I-" he stuttered. It was funny, having been raised to be so proficient in the art of conversation, yet some could leave him tongue tied with just a look.

Bash turned his face, indicating his brother to speak further.

Francis shook his head and turned away, turning to stare at the utter perfection. Away from his half brothers' relentless gaze. Further away was a mirror, small because of the distance between him and it. But, in the reflection stood Lola. Lola and John, the latter donned in green.

Funny, isn't it?

White, the colour of innocence and purity.

Green, the colour of fertility and envy.

"Well, isn't this symbolic?" Bash smirked from behind him. Francis turned once again.

"What do you mean?"

"You look at Mary and James, but always behind them, Lola and Jean. But, Mary and James are gone, here only in portrait, because Lola and Jean are here, physically. You have to pick, Francis. Think like a King, not like a man." he replied. Francis blinked at him, and Bash mirrored. "You have not answered my Question. What are you going to do about that?"

"I have no idea." Francis decided.

"Well, my brother," Bash smiled, coming closer and placing a hand on his King's shoulder. "You are lucky that I do."

Hundreds of miles away, in a cold castle, the young Empress sat at her desk, rapidly writing on a piece of parchment. It had been a long day. A long day of politics and arguments with a partially dimwitted new member of the Scottish Privy council. One only there because of his blood and not because of his brains.

What is it about those with light hair? They never do me right, Mary thought, starting to read over the treaty once more. Mary's eyes rapidly went over the weakest part of her given information, considering how to change it.

"Your Majesty!" A voice called, drawing the Empress' attention away from the treaty she was ratifying to the door.

"Yes, what is it?" Mary questioned, staring at the neat, Calligraphic words written in black ink. She glanced from one note to another, one to her left and other to the right, before dipping the quill she used in the ink pot once again, waiting for her page to speak once more.

"Your Imperial Majesty, you have a visitor, someone of great importance, he says." Tomas, one of the pages said. His voice was breathy, as if he's just been running.

"Who is it?" Mary asked. But, she knew. Mary always knew.

The door opened wider, the soft squeak giving it away.

"Your Imperial Majesty, the Emperor Francis."

The sun has risen in all her Imperial Majesty. She overlooked her worldwide Kingdom with a warm, bright smile, assisting them out of their slumbers willingly. Her almighty Majesty slowly coaxed her people from beds without irritation or reluctance, like she did every morning. Moors were lit up, mountains, cliffs and hills equalling her beauty. She showcased her Kingdom's beauty in all it was, forcing her counterpart to observe their contours and highlights. Heat from the sun on this glistening, Springtime morning replaced embers from dying hearths and small lights from melting candles. She awoke her Kingdom for another day.

Obeying their mistress, birds sung their melodic song. They soared over the mountains and the heaths, the hills and the streams and the seas waking up to the gentle songs. Brother helped sisters, roosters cooing for their own mistresses and masters to awaken, the future mistresses and masters in the world starting to wail at the sight and the sound, weather they be in small, willowing cottages or imposing, large castles. Animal kind coaxed their owners from their beds, watching quietly, those sneaky enough to do so laving sinful beds with information for only the Almighty Empress' ears and hers only.

The raven haired, Almighty Empress awoke quietly in her own right. Swallows singing and quiet voices outside her bed chambers being enough to stir her from her dreams. For a moment, one singular, grand moment, it was as if nothing had changed for the young girl. The last several years nothing but a nightmare. The young girl was still the indulged, beautiful and strong young 'Reinette' of the French court, waking up in the arms of her future King and Husband, whom she adored and was adored in return. The protective Dauphin who was already so, so dear to her.

Mary knew who lay behind her. Mary always knew.

And then, she was still that young, kind and sweet 'Dauphine' of the French Court, her country defended much like her heart. Scotland was momentarily contented under her mothers' regency, England at bay with support for Mary's rule growing day by day and France eagerly waiting for the announcement of an impending heir. Although darkened by the ways of the French and the rules of the world, these few moments were craved most of all, where none of it mattered. Where it could just be him and her against the world.

But now, now it was all so different.

The night before had been something of a fairy tale. The ball room glistened in gold, flames from candles and great hearths giving the room an enchanting, seductive glow, as all from Scottish Court gathered to celebrate this momentous occasion. Portraits of King's and Queen's of Scotland had smiled upon their court as she gathered in her glistening beauty. Men wore their finest coats and jackets, escorting into the room things of beauties, donned in their finest gowns and finest jewels.

But, as she entered, all could agree that the purest thing of beauty was without question the Empress of the United Kingdom of Great Britain. She wore a massive sea of golden tulle skirts that glistened into the seductive light, a tight silk bodice encasing the enviable figure she wore. A foot of satin went over her skirts, trailing over the back to create a four foot long train. Satin pearl embellished court heels were covered by the golden material, silk bodice covered in intricate silver embroidery, in itself embellished with jewels of every colour and small pearls. Her arms were left bare, the left being covered by her raven sea of curls as they were held to one side, an impressive golden crown on her head. As the raven haired beauty usually was in big parties, she was draped in gold jewels, long chandelier earrings and a heavy necklace, bracelets of golden lace covering her hands and holding her middle fingers, every other stacked with rings.

Court had audibly gasped as the young beauty walked into the ball room, one handsome young man on either arm. Both had been donned in black velvet and gold satin, complimenting her so perfectly that it seemed almost surreal. The portrait of the, so disgustingly sweet and hole, trinity defied whatever the history books could say about them. Whatever they had or would say about them, past, present or future, had been defied by the sweet little portrait as she parted the sea of courtiers and walked over to the grand, golden thrones.

The ladies of the court cooed over the sweet family trio, whilst the men covered their faces with the golden wine goblets, only brought out for the most special and important events. This event, however, this event was both neither and all.

As the Imperial Mistress of the court waved a hand, the music played and the people danced. The music was loud, jolly and happy as she made herself known. Echoes of the Celts and the Gaelics, the English and the French echoed throughout the grand fortress that was Edinburgh castle. She danced with those who danced within her, never stopping until the last of the music finally echoed into slumber.

The wine had been explosions of fruit and sugar in those with goblets' mouths. It flowed endlessly, nobody, not even the Emperor and Empress of Britain and France, being sober towards the end. The alcohol flowed like water, adding to the enjoyment of the court, celebrating her Emperor's debut into the world his wife had made her own. The court danced and laughed with each other, celebrating for the sake of celebrating as her Empress' girls went to work.

The Empress watched as her fourteen girls went to work, Greer's working girls assisting their counterparts as they wooed and charmed those who were less complaint in their loyalty to the Scottish Empress than the others in the court. The woman would never admit it, but she'd built up quite the network of spies and girls in the Empire, including France. But, Mary hated remaining so work driven and enjoyed times where she could have fun. So, she and her people had partied all day and all night, no expense spared for the enjoyment of a Scottish party. The music had been loud and constant, wine goblets and whiskey tankards never empty. Her people had danced and danced the night away, barely stopping to indulge in European cuisine that had been imported from all over the continent.

The night before had been something out of a fairy tale. The return of their ally had caused the British people to erupt in joy and celebrations, finally getting to meet the man who had married their blood written Queen and who had given her their future Emperor. Simply put, the introduction of the ruler to the Scottish court for the first time had been more than enough cause for celebration.

Diamonds flickered like candles all over the ballroom. Weather it be from the decorations or chandeliers, or the jewels on every Lady's gown, they flickered and danced with their mistresses and masters. The diamonds glinted on the Empress' fingers as she raised goblet after goblet full of wine and whiskey to her lips, dancing the night away, temporarily beloved husband at her side.

Her husband brave and strong and here, never leaving her for a second longer than necessary, if only they could turn back the sand glasses and have that be true. When the brave, valorous, charismatic character thought of her and only her. When there was never the issue of mistresses and bastard children, when abandonment and omission wasn't a factor in their weltering marital union.

**If only,**

**If only.**

_"What are you doing here, Francis?" Mary asked, monotone drowning her words as the door closed and legal husband and wife were alone again._

_"I-I couldn't stand to be away from you a moment longer. I wanted to see you." he looked down at his threaded fingers, observing the stone and wooden flooring and the tapestry rugs._

_"Why?" Mary asked. "You've had over seven months to return to me, try and prove your contrition and finally be a father to my son. So, why now? What's changed?"_

_"Time, I suppose." Francis sighed. Mary still didn't look at him, but furrowed her eyebrows a little, her attention ripped from the treaty in front of her to the husband behind her._

_"What does that mean?"_

_"I don't know," Francis sighed. "My brother made me realise-" he trialled off._

_"What? That we've repeated history? Come on," she chuckled humorlessly. "that was obvious since the moment I realise you slept with my Lady and got her pregnant." she snickered humorlessly._

_"I understand your anger. It is justified. What Lola and I did may not have been infidelity, but it was definatley betrayal. For that, I am sorry." he said quietly._

_"Speaking of her," Mary moved on, not even acknowledging hid words. "where is she? A King never leaves the castle with his mistress." Mary finished._

_"I don't have a mistress!" he suddenly exclaimed. Mary blinked in surprise, not expecting this conversation to get loud so soon. He walked over to the other side of the desk, looking her in the eye. Feeling at a disadvantage, Mary stood to her full height. Francis spoke again, louder than a usual saying, quieter than a yell."I slept with her, once, to accidentally conceive John! I was upset, betrayed, angry and numb! I shouldn't have done it, and I know that now! But don't let one foolish indiscretion ruin everything we have!"_

_"What do we have?" Mary honestly asked. "A son and heir, a legal marriage and an Empire. That is it. Any love I had for you, any smoldering ember, was put out the moment you claimed that bastard child as your own!"_

_"I know you didn't want me to, and I know your reasons. But I did it because I love him, he is the only son I have that I actually know!-"_

_"Who's fault is that?!"_

_"Would you not do anything possible to improve James' life?! That if you did one single thing, his existence would be immediately benefited?!"_

_"Not if within a decade, his life will be ruined more than it would have been if he was just a common bastard!" Mary yelled. "I am sick of fighting about this. You and I will never reach an agreement over it, what is the point of all this?" Mary asked._

_"I don't want my actions to ruin the next twenty years of our lives! I don't want one indiscretion and one possibly wrong decision to ruin my marriage!" Francis exclaimed._

_"That didn't ruin it! I can look past your night with Lola, I might even be able to look past claiming John, what I cannot look past is making the last three years completely about her! You abandoned your unborn son and I! For over two years! You made us think you were dead! You ruined an innocent man's life, so much so he has to live out the rest of his life in guarded exile! I could have lost my head because of you! You made Lola your confidant, that is what hurt worse than abandonment! In some eyes, she could be described as your legal wife, not I!"_

_"How could you think that?! Who could think that?!"_

_"You spent nine months married to me! You spent almost two and a half years in self made exile! Your bastard child knows you, my son does not! If anybody knows the intricate details, some could say you and she are more married than you and I! Never mind the fact at least one of you is lying to me right now!"_

_Francis went to open her mouth, to interrupt, but he furrowed his eyebrows and frowned as her last sentence left her lips. _

_"What are you talking about?" Francis frowned._

_"On the day I confronted Lola, she told me that in Italy, you got drunk on various nights and took different women to your bed. You didn't bed her again, you bedded others." Mary said, angry but slightly curious at his confusion. Either he was acting well -which the man could not- or Lola had been lying to her._

_"I did no such thing!" he yelled. Mary blinked in surprise. Well, this is a development Mary thought, looking her husband in the eye as he spoke again, quieter this time. "It is true that I drank, casually, socially in fact. To try and find out what others knew of France and you when somebody would travel from my homeland to my mothers' But, I was never drunk. I damn sure never slept with any whores." Francis growled. "How could she tell you that?" he asked, but more to himself than to his wife. _

_"So, she lies to me. She lies to you," Mary trialled quietly._

_"What?" Francis asked. "What has she lied to me about?"_

_"Nothing, it doesn't matter," Mary shook her head, looking down at the treaty again._

_"No," he came forward, a gentle hand wrapping around her wrist. "Tell me."_

_"My working girls said that the morning you were coming back to court, a man came into the room and told you of your mothers' impending execution. Lola said she had 'no idea'" Mary crooked her fingers a little, mocking Lola. "of these events. But, she was the first one to start begging for it. Revenge for what Catherine did to Collen just after our return to court." the Empress exclaimed. "Hell, it was even before Henry and others started talking of it." she finished._

_If Francis looked angry before, now, he looked furious._

_He let go of her wrist, turning towards the door, as if going to leave. But, this time it was Mary who grabbed his wrist._

_"No." he looked at her, bewildered, before slowly glancing at the hand on his wrist. As if realising what she'd done as well, Mary released her husband, looking him in the eye again. "No. If what you say is true, that she's not here, there's no need to leave like a raging bull. If you are truthful, that you want to work on our relationship and focus on the baby, do that." Mary ordered. "Greer and Kenna tell me that they're organising a ball for this evening, a celebration of your miraculous recovery from the grave and our marriage's reinstatement." Mary looked away a little. "As angry as I am with you, I don't want to live the rest of my life how Catherine did. I know that." she looked back at him. "Lead me into the ball tonight. Let the people know that the rumours of our distance are just that. Rumours."_

_"But, they're not." Francis said quietly._

_Mary looked away, nodding a little._

_"They are." she sighed. "Francis, I am still quite guarded, wary and still utterly furious with you. But, I don't want my child to grow up like you did, and I don't want to turn into your mother. I find myself torn. Part of me still believes in the whole fairy tale love we once had, but the other wants to ban you from my land and never see you again. But, if I give into the anger inside me, I feel I will regret it for the rest of my life." she sighed._

_Francis' heart lept. Was she serious? Were these words really coming out of his wife's mouth? Or was this an impossibly perfect dream that he never wanted to wake from._

_"So," she moved swiftly on. "We won't pretend the last three years didn't happen. It will kill us, resentment and un-harboured love and regret will tear us apart like they did to your parents. In public, we'll act the perfectly happy couple, the devout parents. I'm sure James will play along so long as he's near me. We'll be disgustingly happy, but not naive. It's what will be best for us both. Many people are angry and need pacifying over the last few courses of events. But, when they are, happily pacified with gold, lands and titles, then we will attempt to change how we actually are." Mary paused for a few moments. "We'll take a trip, up to the North. There's a little castle at the highlands will be perfect. In private," Mary paused again._

_"And in private?" he asked her and there's definitely hope in his voice._

_"In private, you and I will try to fix this."_

The Empress meant that. She really, really did. But, fate and God got in the way, as it always had and always would do.

The night before had been drowned in alcohol, far too many glasses of wine and too many games involving whiskey. Too many cordial sips of scotch and too many dances requiring liquid. Too little food, not enough heavy foods. She thought, now back in reality, in a gloriously warm bed.

And last night, she thought with a grin, not opening her eyes._ His warm, large hands slowly undressing her. His petal soft lips on hers as layers and layers slowly pooled to the floor. _Mary's eyes snapped open. And, sure enough, both were bare underneath the warm sheet they lay under.

_Oh, sweet lord._


	11. Chapter 11

For the next few days, Mary avoided Francis like the plague, conflicted beyond belief. What they did on the night of the ball couldn't be perceived as wrong, both were man and wife, after all. It wasn't adultery, nor was it betrayal or treason. But, it did seem wrong, in Mary's mind. The physical action was simply too quick in their relationship, they had only just began to even think of repairing their relationship. At this point, it was still far too soon to even think of giving their bodies to each other, the first time in over three years.

In the early days of the abandonment, when Mary had only just began to suspect that Francis had left more than one person behind, she had imagined what it would be like to be with him again when he returned. After all, it had only been a few days since he left, maybe a week or two, and the young Queen was still that idealistic, naive little thing, no matter how much she had darkened over the last year at French Court. She believed Francis was alive, wouldn't be too far behind Louis of Conde, who had just came to court.

But, now that it was done, it felt wrong. Although it wasn't cheating or adultery, it still felt like it. Her skin crawled with sin, an invisible thick, vulgar oil rolling around her soft porcelain casing. Mary had always thought that the first time after he -would ever?, at points- returned was supposed to be a special, sensual and beautiful night, not a drunken night of not thinking and only feeling. The physical act meant nothing now, the only thing it achieved was temporarily relief and a great deal of confusion and confliction now that it was done. Stupid, stupid girl.

"Mary," a voice said. Turning and halting her pacing, she saw Kenna walk towards her. The pretty Baroness wore a gold lace and white gown, the same one she wore whilst they left for Scotland after the impromptu Coronation in France.

"Kenna, what is it?" she asked, taking the piece of folded parchment from her Lady's hand.

"It's from James," Kenna clarified, picking a piece of loose thread from Mary's cream gown with purple lace and an overlay of purple and black organza.

"It's nothing important." Mary brushed it off. "What is important is this whole thing with my husband."

"Why do you think that is?" Kenna asked, brushing her fingers over Mary's bare forearms, threading their fingers together.

"He's trying, Kenna. I know that. He wants us to go back to how we were. I just don't know if I'm ready." Mary sighed.

"You still resent him?"

"I do. He knows that. I just think I've given him false hope, instead of a true insight into how I'm feeling." Mary sighed.

"And how are you feeling?" Kenna asked. "After what happened on the night of the ball." she asked. Mary had called for an early morning tea after waking up in bed with Francis, immediately telling Kenna and Greer what had happened.

"You and Francis? I-I. Wow." Greer said, surprised. Her eyes were closed, eyebrows high.

"I know, I'm so stupid." Mary breathed.

"I just don't understand." Kenna finally said. "Two days ago you were irritated at the mere prospect of him coming to Scotland. I told you what Bash said in his letter, you were angry. But, he comes back for less than a day and the two of you-" Kenna trailed off.

"Yes, yes. I was drunk, I wasn't thinking. I'm such a fool." Mary groaned.

"I don't know," Mary sighed. "Conflicted, I suppose. It was amazing, being held and embraced in a way I haven't been in around eight months. Even with Henry, it was never the same as how it was before Francis left. Being physically loved, adored almost worshipped, it's changed my mentally. I'm still furious and resentful, but last night and his appearance yesterday, it's reminded me of how married life can be, and I miss it. More than I thought I would. More than I realised. It was never like this with Darnley. It started to be, yes, but it never got there before Francis returned. You remember how it was before and immediately after our marriage." Kenna nodded sympathetically. "Part of me still hates him, part of me wishes him to be burned at the stake. But, another is different. The other wants to forgive him and jump into his arms, to accept what he did and move on, to be a disgustingly happy family with James. The other part still loves him and would do anything to make it work, to give James a proper, legitimate family and childhood. I just," Mary sighed. "Oh, I don't know. I want to make it work, I don't want to live like Catherine did, nor do I want to end up repeating Henry and Catherine's mistakes, nor their lives. I want to forgive him. But, I don't know how to forgive him."

"Take some time, talk to him," Kenna paused, running her fingers through a section of raven curls. "you two have been through a lot, especially since the French plague. You shouldn't forgive him so soon, nor so easily. Pretend in front of court, don't let any rumour of your actual distance reach them, before taking some time to fight it out and reach common ground. Not just about your marriage, but about James. You know he's still weary about his father, less in Scotland than in France, but he still doesn't know what to make of his father. He is what you should be focusing on, regardless if you find happiness in your marriage or not." Kenna advised.

Mary half smiled and chuckled humorlessly. "How did you get so wise?"

"Wife hood, motherhood. It changes things." Kenna smiled softly. "You are my sister, all I want for you is happiness, and success. Your marriage effects my marriage, my friend. I want both to work."

"Yes, Bash is foolishly loyal to his brother. And, you are foolishly loyal to me." Mary trailed off.

"Yes, we are. Technically, our marriage is strained because of our divided loyalty. But, it doesn't have to be. We will help you in any way we can, you know this, yes?" Kenna asked. Mary nodded. "You must try to salvage whatever you can of your marriage, if you want a chance at not becoming Henry and Catherine. You and I know better than anybody what their union was before his accident." Kenna said, a light blush floating on her cheeks of pure embarrassment.

"I know. It breaks my heart to think of becoming the last King and Queen of France, especially because we know how their children thought, growing up in that environment of hatred, love and infidelity. I want to forgive him, I want to be able to give my son a proper family like none of us have ever had. But, I don't know how. I don't know what to say to him when the time comes. If I don't say exactly what I need to, I could grow old resenting and hating him. The same with him, he's starting to resent me for not moving forward with our relationship. I know it. I can tell what he thinks when he looks at me, and his squire tells my working girls what he has said to Bash and Leith, those he trusts. It's been a year since he returned, I'd bet he thought I would be further in my forgiveness than I am. That in itself makes me feel guilty. There's just this deep pitted resentment I cannot explain inside me. I just-I just, I don't know what to do anymore." Mary looked away. A gentle hand underneath her chin brought their gases back together. "I am afraid." Mary breathed, admitting the same thing she had to Catherine almost four years ago.

"You aren't wrong for feeling how you do. Nobody can tell you how to feel. I cannot begin to understand how you're feeling, nor can I imagine Bash doing to me what Francis did to you. You don't have a time frame for forgiveness, no matter what Francis thinks, nor what he says. Nobody is going to rush your forgiveness, you're portraying the happy couple, France and the Empire are benefiting from the alliance, the only thing anybody could say is about the arrival of another heir. But, you have James. A strong, healthy, tolerant male heir. Nobody, not even Knox or your political enemies - who themselves have been subdued after the birth, empire and marriage- can force anything. This is just you. Everything will be alright, politically. And, because you have everything politically, the only thing that will change of this imminent conversation and hopeful reconciliation will be the two of you's love for each other. And, judging by your actions on the night of the ball, the physical attraction is clearly still there." Kenna babbled, ever the wise woman, and Mary nodded wordlessly, blushing a little. "I can safely say he still loves you?"

"I think he still does. No matter what he's done that have negative repercussions for me. He claims he still does."

"And you? Do you still love Francis? Not in a way because he is your King, Emperor, husband, childhood companion, first love -both physical and emotional-, and the father of your child. Are you still in love with Francis?"

A pause. A long one.

"I-I'm not sure." Mary finally said.

"Oh, Mary." Kenna sighed, leading Mary over to the side of a nearby setter, wrapping an arm around her. She leaned on her Lady, trusting her weight to her.

"What a mess we've found ourselves in." Mary chuckled, remembering how Greer had said the same thing before the whole Remy-Julian thing had happened in France. "My crumbling marriage is destroying yours, my one-time best friend lies to my husband and I for reasons we still cannot figure out." Mary chuckled humorlessly.

"What? Lola? What has she done?" Kenna frowned, pulling back to look Mary in the eye.

"She claimed to me that Francis drank heavily in their Italian exile, bedded women, but not here. And, Francis contradicts. I believe him. He swore on the blood of our son not long after I sent word to my girls in France, seeing what they could find out about some Italian connections." Mary sighed.

"What reason does she have to lie?" Kenna asked.

"I don't know. Some could say she's the devil incarnate for what she's done, but others will say it was justified. Some could be in the middle."

"Why?"

"I truly believe she didn't mean to do what she did to our marriage, no matter how angry I am at their physical act. I believe she didn't draw him put into the Italian fields like a seductress. But, like it or not, it is betrayal, treason. I don't know why she lied to me, maybe to shift some weight of the blame onto him whilst upset at my yells at her not long after their return. I don't know why." Mary paused for a long time.

Kenna sat in silence the whole time.

"I truly believe she isn't some whore who got herself into this mess as a way of petty revenge. She's just a foolish child who didn't realise her treason and foolishness at the time. They didn't intend to cause all this political drama, it was a foolish, impulsive decision that had large consequences for all of us. Treason and betrayal, yes, and I will never trust her again. But, I cannot let my anger get the best of me. It's time to grow up." Mary babbled. "The fact it wasn't intentional doesn't excuse it, nor does it make it okay. But, I have to take that into account" Mary paused again.

Kenna stayed silent, just listening to what her Empress had to say.

"It doesn't really bother me if he took another while in exile. Hell, I did." Mary shrugged. Kenna opened her mouth to protest. "Different circumstances, I know." Mary rolled her eyes. "But, the fact stays the same. I don't care if he took another, nor do I care if he did not. I care about the fact one of them continues to lie to me."

"You think Francis is lying? After he swore on James' blood?"

"Not as much as I think Lola is, but it is possible. I cannot turn back time and see for myself, but I can do everything in my power to protect my heart and child until the day comes where I find out the truth."

"Mary!" Greer suddenly said. Jumping, Mary looked over to her dearest lady as she barrelled over towards her. Greer was donned in a green gown, the satin stiff as it was forced to move with the speed of her legs. Blonde hair was messy and crooked, gold jewellery not in place as it usually was. As beloved as she was, Greer could be vain at times.

"Greer, you look like you've seen a ghost. What's happened?" Mary frowned, gripping her bracelet covered wrists. Greer stopped in front of them, thrusting the folded parchment at her Empress.

Silently, she opened the letter, reading it quickly before throwing it at the floor with a groan.

"What? What is it?" Kenna asked.

"Francis. He wishes to meet with me tonight. Alone."

"Francis." Mary said. Inhaling sharply, the King of France turned around. He couldn't help but smile at the vision of grace in front of him.

She was so beautiful. A tight, white gown heavily covered in gems, beading and embroidery covered her new, motherly body. The straps were thin and clung to her shoulders, thick satin belt around her waist, holding up a simple over skirt and train, the front skirt of the under gown visible, sparkling in the dark light. A cape of white fur blanketed her otherwise bare arms, the ties tight around her throat. Her hair fell in waves, the back fastened in a loose braid, a small floral crown on her head, her neck and ears glittering with small jewels.

"Mary," he smiled, walking a few steps over to her.

"You sent word for me?" Mary asked, fiddling with her fingers. Goodness, this was awkward. They had drunkenly slept together just a few days previous, so to be standing in front of her husband and King made her so very uncomfortable.

"Yes," he stopped a few inches in front of her. "I hope you don't mind. I thought we should talk." Francis began, seeming to be more than a little nervous himself.

"No, I don't mind at all." Mary lied. "What about?" she asked, feeling rather like the five year old child addressing the long dead King Henry rather than a seventeen year old Empress addressing her King and husband.

"You, me." he began. "Our marriage, our rule." Francis paused. "All the events that have gone on since we were wed."

"We've spoken of most of what we must," Mary answered, rather formerly, straightening up to her full height, almost a defence mechanism, like his words could break down walls she had spent three years building.

"Yes, but now everything has changed. James, John, the night of the ball." Mary looked away at the mention of their drunken rendezvous.

"I don't wish to speak of it." she swallowed. "There are no other ways of saying things that can make the words hurt less." she finished, rather cryptically.

"What do you mean?" he frowned.

"I don't want to speak of it. My words will hurt us both, and I have spent too long hurting. I don't want to hurt anymore." she sighed.

"No. We must be honest with each other. You told me yourself that you don't want to live how my mother lived for all those years. You must be honest with me." Francis prodded.

"Fine." she sighed. "Francis, that night-" Mary trailed off. "It was a mistake, okay? We shouldn't have done that." She looked away, not wanting to see the hurt on his face, the pain she knew would be there.

"I agree." he suddenly said. Mary's eyes snapped open. What did that mean? "It was too soon. We should have waited, not drunk so much. Talked, not pushed each other away." Francis finished. But, even with the words, Mary could see the hurt and sadness in his eyes. For some unknown reason, that hurt in a way she couldn't explain.

"What?" Mary frowned. She expected him to react in a different way, shock, anger, but not acceptance. Anything but acceptance.

"It was a mistake." he said, calm, but his eyes told another story. "Too soon, simply a search for physical pleasure and not the meeting of a husband and wife after so many years apart." he finished.

"Do you regret it?" Mary asked.

"No." he instantly said. "It would have been better to wait, but I have more hope than I did in France."

"Because we had far too many drinks and ended up in bed together?" Mary scoffed. "It was a mistake, it shouldn't give you hope."

"Well, it did." he said no more. "What do you want from this?" he asked.

"I have no idea what you're attempting to ask me. You called me here." Mary defended herself, her body tensing at the almost accusation.

"I did. But, you let me stay in Scotland, rather than banish me to France." he said. "Why did you let me stay?"

"Because the Empire must finally see her Emperor, even if he is simply a consort. Some look to you and not me, and you can help my rule by swaying them to my side. I nursed your plague stricken country, now it's time for repayment." Mary replied, the ruler inside of her coming out.

"Not the royal reason. It's simply an excuse. Your reason." he said, eyes burning into hers. She swallowed.

"James needs to know his father. Without distraction or unconventional contradictory advise. It's hard growing up without a father. James won't go through that." Mary said, folding her arms in front of her, almost guarding herself.

"Whilst that's closer to the truth, I want the real reason." Francis pushed.

"There is no other reason. I didn't stay to give you hope, I stayed to give you your son." Mary snapped. "I won't pretend to play happy family, nor will I poison his mind against you. You're only here for political and fatherhood reasoning." she finished.

"No, I'm not." Francis said, almost calmly. Mary's anger grew. How dare he -of all people- accuse her of lying!

"Another accusation and I will stuff you in a trunk and send you back to France." Mary said, but not as angrily as she would have liked. As children, when she irritated him, he threatened to pack her in a trunk and send her back to Scotland.

_"Come back here!" the little, six year old, Crown Prince of France squealed as he rushed along the long hallways behind his Scottish fiance._

_"Catch me!" Mary giggled back. The young Queen had taken full advantage of her flattened shoes and his uncomfortable and heavy new clothes his mother had commissioned for the meeting of the newest Medici Pope, waiting until the introductions had been complete before snatching the Crown Prince's favourite little toy soldier, rushing off into the long hallways of Fontainebleau, growing bored of sitting straight and prettily in front of members of the contingent. Upon the Queen's permission to leave, the little Mary and Francis had taken off. Although, the little Prince was far more reluctant than his Scottish counterpart._

_"Mary!" he wined, unable to run faster in his heavy boots and stiff embroidered robes. He glared at them as if they were the cause of all suffering in the world, trying to catch the young Queen of Scotland, but without luck. "Come back here!" he wined as she pelted down the next corridor, giggling all the way. "If you don't I will stuff you in a trunk and send you back to Scotland!"_

_"You will never!" she squealed, narrowly dodging the corner of the next turning. "You love me!" she laughed, throwing what he'd said to her three days ago in his face once more."Catch me!" Mary giggled, turning back to watch him struggle to join in, although the smile on his lips contradicted the irritation in his eyes._

_What a picture the pair made, the future of Empire chasing each other around the hallways of Henry's favourite holiday home. The various courtiers they passed gave them all fond looks, chuckling to themselves as the Queen of Scotland outran their future ruler. The bond the two shared was undeniable, something that pleased most of court._

_"Look!" Mary gasped, halting to a stop. A few seconds later, Francis appeared next to her, snatching the wooden soldier from her right hand with a satisfied smirk, but Mary had lost interest in irritating him. She was far more interested in pointing out the boats being commissioned in the small lakes, a sure sign of the light festival Catherine had tried to keep from them. Last year they snuck from their rooms and watched the lights and fireflies all night, being found asleep on the grounds by a flurry of flustered maids who were sure they'd lost the Future King and Queen of France and Scotland. _

_"Fireflies!" Francis pointed at the paper lanterns that were being set out on the gardens._

Coming back to reality, Mary took a step back from her husband, looking away.

"What?" Francis frowned.

"Nothing," Mary said quietly, hating to remember the happier times. They clouded her present day judgement.

"What are we going to do with this, Mary? How can we go forward?" Francis asked.

"This isn't about us, Francis." Mary sighed. "They key issue here is James. What makes him happy and what makes him secure as he grows up." Mary paused. "We can think of us when our child is secure and happy."

"How can I make it right?" Francis asked.

"I don't know. I don't know how he will react to you. He knows you as his Uncle Bash's friend, still doesn't quite grasp that you are his father." Mary sighed, hating the fact she has to say that. "When James grows accustomed to you, works through any resentment that he has, then it will be time to work on our relationship. He is my priority right now. He and my empire, nothing else."

"As they should be." Francis agreed. "However, we must talk of his future."

"What about it?" Mary asked.

"His brother and Lola." Mary frowned deeply, anger overcoming her yet again.

"No."

"No?" Francis frowned.

"No." Mary finished. "He will not know about that. I can make him understand the fact you gave a child lands and titles, but he cannot know about the biological relation between the two of them." Mary slowly explained.

"Why not? They are brothers." Francis frowned.

"They are not brothers." Mary glared. "They are half brothers. I know you claimed him, knowing what it would do to your son and I. I knew before I left France."

"I had to! I had to give him a better life!"

"One that will be full of scorn and neglect! One that wouldn't be if you let Lola and your child ride away with Louis of Conde!"

"How do you know about that?" Francis frowned. Mary sighed loudly.

"I have my ways." she answered. "But, the fact of the matter is that by doing that, you trapped him in a world of scorn and neglect. He will be spoken of in scornful whispers until the day he dies. By claiming him, you broke my heart and chased James and I away like we were stubborn cattle!"

"I did no such thing! You left me!"

"I made good on my word and we are not about to start yelling about this. I have had enough of yelling." Mary rushed. Francis paused for a few moments.

"Why did it break your heart?" he frowned.

"Because you ignored my advice and followed your mothers' instructions."

"We can grow accustomed to this over time. If we proceed with caution, James won't resent his brother, he won't know any different."

"He is not a piece of clay to be moulded by any hand. His feelings are his feelings. You will not manipulate him into thinking any different." Mary furrowed her eyebrows, almost glaring. "They will not be pushed aside because you don't want to face the consequences of your actions. The only way to protect your's and Lola's child is to make sure the two never meet." Mary began calmly.

"You cannot wish this! They are brothers! They could live with each other like Bash and I!"

"Half brothers." Mary reminded. "If you wish to yell then you can yell in France, not here. Now, Bash and yourself have always had a tumultuous relationship at best. Brothers in youth, before they faced obstacle after obstacle. Lola, myself, Henry, the crown of France. And now, Bash resents you for driving away his wife and daughter. He serves you because he must, not because he wishes to. You've hurt him almost as much as you've hurt me." She paused to let her words sink in. "They will fight. James has your's and Catherine's vindictive heart, anybody who hurts those he loves will be punished. And, with the power he will attain after our deaths will ruin your son." Mary shot down each point he made. "If he doesn't see the pain, then he may accept the fact you claimed him. All John Phillip Valois-Angoulême will be to him is a name, a name with title and land. One he can learn to accept when he grows into King hood." Mary calmly went on.

"We can-" he breathlessly trialled off.

"Do only that to protect him. If the two meet, ever meet, then this will change. James will grow to hate him, he already is starting to. Remember the time you saw him after your bastard son? How he cried and refused you? I think it poetic, in a way." she shrugged a shoulder. "And, as he grows into a man, that hatred with grow and manifest and spread and as soon as he is able, he will kill him and take vengeance on his mother. He will raise hell upon them, you know that. You just don't like it." Mary read his mind. "Send Lola and John away. Let them live comfortably in the Spanish border, a precious little titled secret. In time, those who you announced his claimence to will forget and focus on James." she explained. "And," she went on. "If you cannot forget about him must be a father to him, go on regular visits to see him wherever the child lives. But, do not ruin the realm because of him." she finished.

"Why do you wish to protect him?" Francis asked, breathless.

"Because I am his Queen. I have a duty to serve my people. He is both French and Scottish, both regions I rule over." she paused. "And," she continued. "I realised something Catherine never did. He is not to blame for his conception. I cannot resent him for it. I can only resent you and Lola, and believe me, I do. He is innocent in this, blameless. I resent what he represents. Pain, betrayal, treason." Mary counted. "But, the child himself is blameless. He deserves as much protection as the next child who was unfortunately born out of wedlock, sired of a King and a foolish harlot." Mary finished.

"You still resent Lola and myself?"

"I do." she shamelessly admitted. "And, it is safe to say I always will." she paused, noticing his mouth opening to reply. "Before you try and justify it with the whole prophecy thing, you are responsible for your own actions. What you did wasn't okay, and never will be." she moved on. "You've cost me much, Francis. More than I ever thought possible. But, I do not dwell." she said, voice dripping in superiority, no evidence of the pain in the words.

"How can I make it right?"

"Be a father to your son. And after, that is a different matter. But, neither you or I, are the first priority. Our countries and James must be." Mary finished. She looked over at the dark night's stars. "I should get inside. James won't settle until he knows I'm there." she said.

Francis grasped for her hand and she looked over at him. Neither said anything.

"I cannot do this anymore." Francis admitted. Mary frowned.

"What?"

"I cannot do this," he gestured to the both of them. "You lay your pain at my feet and won't let me make it right, you don't give me a clue into what you want me to do. I cannot do it anymore."

"This is not about you."

"No, you throw the past in my face, hate me because of my son and Lola then play the doting wife in front of court." Francis suddenly spat. Mary blinked. "That's all you give me. I am the father of your child yet you treat me like a stranger!"

"What do you want me to do? Jump into your arms and let the last three years of betrayal go? No, it doesn't work like that, Francis!" she snatched her wrist away from his grasp.

"Do you even want to me married to me anymore?!" Francis suddenly exclaimed.

Mary paused, silent for almost half a minute.

"My feelings have nothing to do with this." she said, slowly.

"Do you even love me anymore?!" he cried. The way he said it did something to her. Only now did Mary see the tears in his eyes when she looked at the red ringed cerulean orbs. She frowned deeply. How could she respond? Did she love him still?

"How I feel has no matter." Mary slowly said. "You taught me that." she took another few steps back. "Goodnight, your Majesty."

Mary turned and walked back into her castle, her steps wobbly, knees trembling, encased in satin and lace. Her heart hammered in her chest and tears of her own blinded her. How could their marriage have come to this?

And, behind her, the King of France stood alone on the Scottish Royal lawn. And, shamelessly, he let the tears fall.


	12. Chapter 12

"Mary." A voice said. Jumping, the young Empress came out of her reverie and looked to her familiar intruder. It was the young Baron, Sebastian de Portiers, the husband of one of her best friends and her half brother in law. Over his two week visit in Scotland -King and half brother in towe- the duo had yet to have more than a civilised conversation not about politics. Mary missed the companionship of the young Baron more than she though. Forcing a smile, the so tired Empress slowly waved a hand at him, beckoning him to enter the royal chambers.

It had been many days since her and Francis' late night conversation, with little output after the fact. He had retired from Edinburgh and went over to Dunbar, giving both some much needed space. They still played their parts well, they had little option, but it wasn't the same. The very alive King returned for Scottish court in the mornings, danced with his Empress and heir in the evenings and played the part of the King and husband well, but it was nothing in comparison to what they had both had just a few years ago. How long ago it seemed.

"Sebastian," Mary cleared her throat, sitting up from her un-Queenly slouch and sitting up straight, quickly starting to fix her hair and skirts. Once proper, she spoke again. "lease, come in." Mary said. Obeying, he walked over towards his young half sister in law, stopping a few feet away to bow, accepting a seat near her upon her nod. "To what do I owe this rare pleasure?" Mary asked. It had been a long time since they had spoken properly, almost a year, to be exact. A few French political conversations here and there, each one never lasting the length of a dance, but never more. Which, Mary suspected -hoped?- would be the outcome of this conversation.

"I've just gotten back from my brother." Bash revealed.

"Oh?"

"Yes. You are aware he resides in Dunbar? For the time being, at least."

"Yes."

"What do you plan to do of it?" Bash asked.

"Excuse me?"

"How will you rectify it? Francis has no idea how to, it is up to you."

"I don't have to do anything, Sebastian. This is his mistake, he must rectify." Mary replied, voice testier than usual, but not holding it's usual spark and fire.

"I cannot disagree," Bash agreed, leaning back into the chair. "but, he is a fish. You must give him the line to get what you both want. You cannot honestly tell me you wish to wallow in misery for the rest of your life?" Bash asked. "No. I know you. You wish to live happily, with a family of your own. This isn't it." Bash paused, letting his words sink in. "I can see how this is effecting you, how it hurts. You must relieve yourself of this pain, it is the only way for you to think with a clear head."

"I cannot. His actions, his foolishness, have ruined us."

"They don't have to, Mary." he paused again. "You must remember that he didn't want to hurt you. All of this wasn't set out to hurt you. He didn't lay with your Lady to actively hurt you. He didn't run away to hurt you."

"But he did."

"He did. And now, you must be the better person than he and Lola. You must be strong. And forgive, before this ruins you and changes you into something you cannot turn back from." Bash replied.

"So, I am supposed to just forget all this pain and anger and betrayal and jump into his arms as if nothing has happened? Push my pain and hurt aside until it consumes me. Come on, Sebastian," Mary angrily chuckled. "you know as well as anybody that that isn't how this world works. No matter how some may portray it to be otherwise." Mary finished.

"How do you know you are destined for pain if you let him in? You may completely turn him from you if you continue this, Mary. If he ever gives up on you, which he won't, then he will resent Jean and Lola and eventually, you. Both your hearts will be broken and it will be your fault. If you let him in, even just a little bit, you may get your only chance of true, unbridled happiness back." Bash finished.

Mary humorlessly laughed out loud. "So, this is all my fault? All of this pain and betrayal and hurt is because of me? Sebastian, I thought you better, wiser than that. I suppose I thought wrong."

"I would never suggest that." he replied, calmly. "This was not your fault. You may have set the ball rolling with the Prophecy ordeal, but you did not force Lola to sleep with Francis. You did not force her to commit betrayal, treason and sin. You did not force him to run away to Lola, you told him the risks and he still ran away, abandoning you and your son. He almost killed James. I will never forget, nor forgive." Bash replied, pausing.

Mary's eyes suddenly watered. "He did. I remember-" she trailed off a little. "all the blood flowing from my legs, a few hours after he left me for her. Them." Mary spat. "Francis could have killed my son, later, me. I will never forgive that. Do you know how many more people would have died if he did? War would have flared, punished the innocent and the guilty. What then? Do I still forgive and forget after what he did? Sebastian, I simply cannot." Mary replied, her eyes tired.

"You look exhausted." Sebastian commented. "I am sure it has nothing to do with the Prince sleeping in your bed last night?" he asked, knowing full well that James always enjoyed sleeping in his mothers' bed whenever he didn't feel secure.

"No, it does not. I am exhausted with this situation. I cannot change it, I cannot remedy it and I cannot halt my life to focus on it. I cannot hear another's opinion on Francis and Lola and their child, nor on the state of my marriage. I am so tired, Sebastian. So tired of all of this." Mary sighed.

"I would be, too." he gently added.

"How can you paint him out to be this harmed God? An angel done wrong? He harmed you, too, with this ordeal! Your wife, your daughter, gone! Your nephew! The one who actually knows you, gone! All future plans of having another baby up in smoke!"

"You are right again, I do not trust him as I once did, but I cannot allow my little brother to suffer, even if he deserves it." Bash replied. "Would you do the same, should it be James?"

"That is not the same! Stop trying to make me feel guilty for not forgiving him! I can't! I just can't!"

"You would rather suffer to prove to him he was wrong? Deny your son a father to prove him wrong!"

"He did that! He denied James a father! He almost killed him before he was even born. And, do answer your question, yes! I did just fine on my own so far, as has James! We will do just fine without him!"

"I didn't say you did not. I just want you to see it from another perspective."

"The only perspective I need to see from is mine, Sebastian! I am an Empress! I will not speak any further. Any pretty words and false pretences he told you to spin to me will stop. I am exhausted of going round and around in this topic. I cannot, I will not speak more." Mary sighed, frustrated and angry.

"If that is what you want, then I will respect it. You are perfectly within your rights to want to make him suffer for what he did. Hell, a part of me endources it. As, you are right. He did drive away my family, as well as his own. But, Mary, do not let your anger blind you from any love you could face."

Miles away, the King of France and Emperor of Great Britain sat silently in his -Mary's?- lounge room, reclined in a green silk embroidered settee, feet bare and propped up. He wore nothing but some ill fitting leather trousers and a white undershirt, untied at the collar, a tankard of whiskey in his right hand.

It was past midnight, and he knew he should be slumbering, to get ready for his trip to Edinburgh the next dawn. But, like he did as an alcohol soaked Prince not that long ago, he chose to drown his sorrows and troubles with alcohol instead of facing him.

Foolish boy! Henry had once hissed, gripping his heir by the jaw, bringing them so close so that their noses touched. The King of France had just been notified of Francis' almost successful attempt to run off and elope with Lady Olivia D'amencourt, and was furious beyond belief, justifiably so. The Scottish alliance was prized higher than ever, now.

Yes, father. I am a foolish boy. Francis thought, looking at the bright Scottish moon, hearing the owls hoot and the hounds howl in the not so distant distance.

"Brother!" a voice said, from behind him. It sounded breathless.

"It's been hours." was the only response, slightly slurred from his alcohol consumption. Try as he might- and lord, the man did try- he wasn't the best at holding down his liquor, Scottish being the hardest to handle out of them all. Even his wife could drink him under the table. And, a fortnight ago, she had. And look where that had got them. "Where have you been?"

"Where do you think?" Bash asked, dryly. "So, dear brother, how have you been since I saw you last?" Bash strolled over to him, plucking the tankard out of his grasp and setting it away after a swig of his own.

"How do you think?" Francis replies dryly, reaching over for the tankard, before immediately giving up and settling back against the chair.

Bash chuckled. "You are acting like your son." he said, but there was anger in his voice. "And, you may be king, an Emperor now, but I'm your older brother. Don't avoid the question." Bash finished.

"Honestly? Exhausted. All of this situation with Mary is getting too much. I know I hurt her and James, hurt them bad, but they won't give me a line of recovery. They won't forgive me. And, as long as Mary doesn't, James won't." he sighed. "I cannot think of how to make it right."

"I spoke with her. Neither does she." Bash revealed. Francis nodded, numb.

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. Part of me wants to go to France, like she wants me to. Raise Jean with his mother, give him a childhood and protection for when he grows up."

"You did, after Mary left. Look where that's gotten us all." Bash chuckled humorlessly.

"Yes." he sighed. "Lola and I have been spending alternate nights to spend with the boy. But, the nannies and mother say he's such a fussy child. Hard to control. He just wails and wails and wails, nothing settling him. But, when he stills, he is beautiful, so serene and sweet." Francis looked away.

"You're not helping yourself, brother." Bash warned.

"I know, I know. I wonder, however, if I would have been prepared for this rols should Lola have told me the truth long ago. Maybe this all would have been different. But, she made her decisions. And, I made mine. I am forced to live with them as I live with my mistakes." Francis sighed, miserable. "I made such a mistake leaving. Father always said never let a bastard child effect political relations."

"But, you did not."

"I did not. But, it's hard to think of Jean as a mistake. I love him, so much. Don't mistake me, I'm not saying I don't wish I did not sleep with Lola. I do. But, he makes it hard at times."

"Answer me something." Bash said. Francis looked at him. "In France, why does it have to be Mary and James or Jean and not Mary and James and Jean?" Bash asked.

"Do not regress. You know that better than I. You raised him more than I did." Francis chuckled. "Jean's future. If James grows with him, he will grow to resent him for hurting his mother."

"And if Jean does not hurt Mary?"

"He always will. Do not be a fool. Mary may hide her pain well, you know as well as I how she does. But, even if she does, James will know. James always knows. You know how close the two are. And rightfully so." he paused. "Don't misunderstand me, I wish it could be all three of them, as well as any possible children the two of us could have. But, she's so headstrong and hurt that she isn't willing to let me in again. I don't blame her. If the roles were reversed, I am not sure I could, either." he paused again. Bash waited. "All I can do now is let her work through her thoughts and feelings and be ready to come back to me. But, at times, it seems like her and our son are just so far away. There are times where I could reach out and touch her, when we dance for her court, but there is something holding us back. I so, so wish she could see it how I do. Eventually, we could be together. I know it is possible."

"Have you tried telling her that?"

"I don't know how. Whenever I'm around her, even if she's yelling at me, I loose all sense when it comes to the two of us. Our marriage. Our rule. I just think of her coming back to me, how I'd do anything to make it happen. I just want to stand in front of her for hours and let her scream and yell at me all she wants, until her anger and resentment against me is gone, before we can start to rebuild. But, if I push too far, turn up too much, she'll pull away from me, getting farther and farther away with me with every attempted reconciliation I try. I cannot stand the thought of becoming father, Mary becoming my mother. She told me she doesn't want to, but she's adamant to make us that way. I love her, after everything we've done to each other, I just don't know how to prove it to her. Telling her isn't enough. I don't think she believes me.

"Francis, take it from somebody who has experienced the love the two of you have, what you share isn't ever going to go away. She may be conflicted about you, but if she truly hated you for what you did, she could have ordered assassins when you returned or just did it herself. She could have fought against the annulment between her marriage and Henry's. But, she did not. That spark, that ember, that light is still inside her. All you have to do is find it, brother."

"Excuse me, your Imperial Majesty?" a voice said. Looking up from her desk -her attention ripped away from the terms of a possible new treaty with Sweden- Mary watched as Steven, her bastard nephew and page came into the room.

"Steven, what is it, boy?" she asked, her words holding no malice, just kindness. A rarity nowadays, Steven one of the only ones out of her political and personal inner circle who knew about the trouble with Francis, seeing as though the Empress' marriage was quietly crumbling behind closed doors.

"The Lady Amelile, my lady." he bowed out and the tall blonde came striding in. Mary smiled softly at one of her favourite working girls, all donned in pink lace and black leather.

James -who sat near her playing with some building blocks and wooden soldiers- squealed in excitement at seeing a familiar face. Especially when that familiar face made his mother happy.

"My girl, what news do you bring me?" Mary asked.

"Most gracious, your grace." Amelile curtseyed slightly. "I have finished my, how do I put it, correspondence, with one of the Lady Lola's household." they shared a secretive smirk. "And they tell me that by the order of the King, she is confined to the castle, only allowed to stay in her rooms most days. They say the King has spoken with his harlot, telling her that the Lady's future is in his Queen's hands, not his own. Lola is still a Scottish subject, my Queen." Amelile babbled a little. "Officially, he has not made her his mistress, I have spoken with Aimee on the matter -she is quite comfortable with the King's private secretary, Lord Dumas- and she confirms. The Lady is not titled with his harlot, although many speak of her to be." Amelile finished.

"What of suitors?"

"None, your Majesty. She has no contact with any those not servicing her or her bastard child. Any letters she sends are monitored and intercepted. French Court awaits your command."

"What do the people think of her?"

"She is secluded, so she doesn't add to the gossip of the Court. However, she has been shunned, the moment her child was claimed. Nobody has offered marriage, your Grace. No nobles, no servants. Nobody. Court sniggers behind her back as if she cannot hear. She's notorious in Scotland and in France. She's labelled his mistress, his harlot, his whore. She's ruined, your Imperial Majesty. Only you can change her fate, sell her off to the highest bidder as some sort of breeding mare. However, her price will have to be more than her fertility, seeing her lack of virtue and her scorned bastard." Amelile continued.

Mary nodded slowly, a sick sense of satisfaction running through her veins. It almost felt fulfilling to the point of pleasure.

"You speak of her future marriage, should my nobility not call for her head. Her family, the Flemming's, do they know?" Mary asked. "About what a harlot their daughter made herself out to be?" Mary asked.

"I am not sure, your Majesty. However, I feel with the news of Jean Phillipe's existence plaguing France into thinking their King is a sentimental laughing stock, they will know soon enough. Especially since the King himself is in Scotland." she finished.

"I see."

"If they know of her alleged widowhood, nobody has offered financial aid to supply a dowry. It is only a matter of time before the Flemming's find out what their only living daughter has done. I fully suspect with the King's entrence into the land of their blood, if they do not, they will know soon enough." she finished.

"I see, is that all you can tell me of my former Lady?" Mary asked.

"It is, ma'am."

"Very good work, my friend. Send word to all the girls, have them inform what they have figured out over the last while. Meanwhile, send for your husband, reside in the grand Sandown Castle for a fortnight. It's a luxurious palace, fit for your accomplishment." Mary ordered. She enjoyed rewarding her ladies for their good work from time to time, the three most accomplished being married off to handsome, rich, powerful men. Whenever they pleased her, they lived in complete luxury with fine gifts. It was a system all involved enjoyed.

"Thank you, your Imperial Majesty. I shall leave you to your work. I am sure the young Steven has another who wishes to see you."

"Very well, you are dismissed." Mary waved her out. She curtseyed to the Queen of France, before the Dauphin -who waved sweetly at her as she left- starting to walk out of the room. When gone, the Stewart blooded page poked his head inside once more.

"Your Imperial Majesty, aunt, may I present the King of France, Emperor Consort of Great Britain." he said. Mary sat back in her chair as Francis slowly walked into the room.

He walked to the higher third of the room, where the grand oak desk stood, a few feet from the fire and the gold fireguard. His breath caught as he looked at his wife for the first time in a few weeks. The night of the ball had been three weeks ago, their hard midnight conversation a mere two. She had grown impossibly more beautiful in the time he spent away from him. She wore a green satin gown, her shoulders bare and arms covered. Long hair fell in a wave of straight onyx sea, a diamond bandeau tiara the only jewellery she wore. How green satin had suited his bride.

"It's been a few days, Francis." was the only thing she said, once he stood in front of her, all donned in the grand and fine clothes fit for a King.

"It has. I needed some time to think of our relationship, how it can be repaired and how I can change to see it happen."

"I see." Mary leaned back further. "However, I am being a ruler right now, the issues with our marriage can and will wait." she paused. "So, I speak to you as a ruler, now. Can I help you?"

"Yes. I would like to see my son. Our son." Francis replied. Mary raised her chin and an eyebrow, pointing behind him. The King of France clearly hadn't seen his son yet.

"He is right behind you." Mary replied. He turned and, sure enough, sat the royal heir. Two small figurines were in his hands, a building block in the other. He was donned in a small pair of black leather trousers, a white puffy tunic and a buckled black leather waistcoat with silver swirls heavily embroidered into the fabric. His black curls were unruly, big dark eyes shining as he looked up at his biological father.

James offered him a small, shy smile. He recognised him.

"May I spend the afternoon with him? It's time to finally be a father." Francis said, still looking at the perfect mix of he and Mary.

"You may. He is yet to spent his usual few hours in the open air." Mary replied. Francis smiled softly, turning to his wife.

"Thank you."

"I reiterate. I will not keep him from you. It's horrid growing up without a father. He deserves a father, your and I's issues are different. He is the priority." Mary finished.

"Thank you, Mary." he smiled softly, turning to James, holding out a hand. "James, would you like to come with me?" he asked.

Whilst Mary would have preferred one on one father-son time to be eased into, at first being loaded with those James knew, before transitioning into one on one, she knew the slight recognition James held for Francis may just be enough.

The small boy looked to his mother, almost asking for permission. Mary smiled at her son.

"It's alright, my love. You may go with your father and have fun. Mama has to work." she smiled softly.

James smiled, a small, little toothy grin, getting up from his perch on the embroidered rug he sat upon, walking up to his father and slowly taking his hand, the King's dwarfing the size of the Prince's.

Mary watched as the duo left her study, a strange feeling of fufillment in her heart. This one, however, this was so different than the other feeling, so different that she hated to admit what it actually was.

"Bessie!" young James squeaked, pointing at one of the chestnut stallions he and his father passed.

"Would you like to go riding?" Francis questioned his child, heart busting with love and attachment.

"Yes, yes, yes!" he beamed, starting to jump up and down. Francis smiled wide at the child.

"You there, boy, have a horse set up for the Prince and I. And send for someone to fetch a cloak." Francis ordered to a near bye stable boy. He nodded and bowed, getting right to it.

James' insistent tugs on his hand brings Francis' attention from the retreating figure to that of his son and heir.

"Riding," he said, not pronouncing the 'R'. "Where? Where?" he asked, clearly excited for the trip. Francis briefly wondered who James thought he was, as he seemed far more comfortable and at ease than the last time he'd seen him, but would settle for even being thought of as his mothers' friend. Anything was better than a stranger who carried a sent he didn't like.

"Those mountains and those trees, way over there." Francis smiled, kneeling to James' level, pointing to the horizon of trees and mountains. God, Mary lived in a beautiful country.

"Where? Where?" James asked, pressing his face close to Francis', squinting his little eyes to see the picture. Francis was surprised. This was the closest the boy had ever willingly been -he'd had the honour of placing the child in bed as he slept a few times in France- but his child didn't seem to notice the tears of love in his eyes. Francis brings him closer with the other arm, pointing at the mountains once more.

"Those trees, way past the forest and the water, right there." he began, smiling at James' squeal of excitement. He talked about all the things five year old Mary had told him of her homeland, not stopping until a voice from behind them spoke.

"Your Majesty," the voice said. Francis stood and turned, finding a nursemaid with a small grey and black cloak. "The horse is prepared and I have this for the Prince, but is this wise? The Prince is still very young."

"Nonsense, the child needs some fresh air." Francis shook the concern away.

He took the cloak and swooped it over the child's shoulders, listening to the little giggles from the sweet child. Reaching out his hand again, James took it without reservation, walking alongside his father for a few steps, before turning and waving goodbye to his nursemaid.

Francis hoisted James up on the horse, vaulting behind his child as they started to gallop through the hills and the streams of the serene Scottish countryside. The little boy was wailing in excitement, pointing out the birds in the air and the insects on the trees. Francis felt a sad happiness splutter through his veins. How could he willingly have missed a single second with his child? But, it brang him comfort to know that there was still mend this.

They stopped on top of a tall hill, rivers and streams flowing healthily beneath them, trees and forests and fields as far as they could see.

"One day, all of this will be yours." Francis said, leaning down into James' ear.

"Really? But it's mama's." he said, wide eyed and full of wonder.

"It is, but one day, when you rule on your own, it will be yours, my Prince." Francis smiled, running a finger through a lock of raven ringlets.

Suddenly, the words are flowing. He didn't start them, nor know how to stop them.

"James," he trailled off, quiet. The boy looked back up at him. He doesn't know how to do this. "I haven't been a very good father to you, I haven't seen you grow, because I did something very bad to your mother, and she's sad because of it."

James gasped. "Mama shouldn't be sad!" he proclaimed, words a little misproncounced.

"No, she shouldn't." Francis agreed. "I am so sorry for not being around to see you grow, for making your mother upset. But, I promise you that I will make it right." he doesn't know how much the boy understands, but is more than sure that it is enough.

Lady Greer of Castleroy slowly folded the Crown Prince's small clothing into some trunks, awaiting his nap time ritual. A song that reminded him of his mother, one of her blankets -Mary herself usually did this ritual, so they had to remind him of his beloved mother-, some warm milk sweetened with honey and a few slices of bread and cheese, before he was tucked into his bed for a few hours. Kenna was busy with a fussy Meredith -the child had been unwell- so Greer had to take over this daily process for Mary had been called into an emergency privy council meeting something dull about unrest East of Wales the Empress had said. Greer was accustomed to this ritual. She'd tucked the boy in for his afternoon sleep hundreds of times, as well as her own children who were slumbering near her.

She had been told about Francis and James' afternoon out by the Empress herself, and was anxious to be told how it had went. The bond between father and son was far more important to the Empress than the bond between Empress and Emperor.

Because the last few meetings between father and son hadn't gone well, Greer was surprised to see Francis carrying James into the royal nursery on his hip, the child already donned in his sleeping garments.

"Greer!" James squealed as he saw one of his mothers' best friends. He beamed and waved a sleepy hello.

"Hello, sweet boy." Greer smiled.

Francis lay James in his bed, watching as Greer took care of the ritual of song, warmth, food and drink, before kneeling by the bed and leaning over.

"Did you have fun today?" he asked.

"Yes," James answered, but he said two words. The second began with a 'P', but was ineligible.

"You can call me Papa, James." Francis smiled, taking his childs' hand. "I am your father." he smiled. Francis' throat constricted as the boy looked at him with big eyes that were all Mary. Suddenly, the sleepy child launched himself from the bed and into Francis' arms, nearly knocking him over.

"Don't go, Papa." the boy said. He gently leaned James back down, stroking his raven coloured, silky curls tenderly.

"I'm never leaving you or your mother again, James. I promise." he told his second born. That seemed to satisfy the young boy, who tightened his grip on his fathers' larger hand, closing his large, circular eyes contentedly. The pain in Francis' heart lessened a little, and he realised that the key of rebuilding the boys' family was forming a bond with him. And, once he did, the greater chance that his mother would open her heart to him once more.

The thought made him smile.

"I love you, my little prince."


	13. Chapter 13

Mary sighed blissfully, enjoying the warm sunlight on her cheeks. She sat outside in the gardens, watching her countrymen and countrywomen enjoy themselves at the harvest festival. It was early June, a month and a half after the latest instalment in this ridiculous story she had found herself in. By day, Francis and James grew closer to be as thick as thieves. And, by night, the two conspired together to make each person they knew, happier. Even now, they played on the grass together. Francis twirled his heir around on the bright grass by one arm, and the boy squealed and giggled as if he'd known his father for all his life. Which, in some ways, wasn't far off the mark.

What a picture the pair made. Because of the physical closeness of the pair, it was now not that difficult to see the physical similarities the two held. Unruly curls, a narrow nose and sharp jawline, a pointed chin and a substantial height. Although James clearly resembled his mother, he looked just as much like his father.

It was early June, now. The summer festival had been organised by Baronesses Kenna de Portiers, who was well known for throwing lavish parties in both English and Scottish Court. Music played fluently, food and drink flowed. The people laughed and conversed, socialising and mingling well, not an argument or disagreement in sight. Men, women and children associated with each other, uncharacteristically not trying to scheme or back stab for their own game. For the first time in months, everybody was simply happy.

Mary looked over, observing the chief mastermind behind the party. She was donned in a cream lace gown, a crown of white roses in her brown hair. Near her was the Baron, looking as handsome as ever in a dark blue ensemble, his beautiful little daughter in a tiny purple and white lace gown, brown hair and green eyes bright in the summer's day. Meredith was the most beautiful little girl, the perfect mix of Kenna and Bash. Young and sweet and innocent, so adoring of her cousin.

Mary shut her eyes, remembering the time she had seen the little Lady as she was born.

_"Mary," Bash smiled, opening the door after hours of Kenna's screams. The horrid sound was finally penetrated by the scream of a newborn, instantly setting Mary and Greer -who had been removed when Kenna started to struggle with blood loss- alight. They hadn't left the corridor outside the room where Kenna had been giving birth. "Greer. You can come in now." Bash had smiled._

_They had lept from their perches on the floor, quickly walking inside the large room where Kenna lay in bed, covered in sweat and pale, yet glowing and ecstatic._

_"Kenna." Greer whispered._

_"Mary. Greer." Kenna had smiled. They looked over at the midwives, who were bathing a bloody, wailing creature. "I had a girl." Kenna said, quiet and weak, but so happy and proud. Mary stepped closer to the newborn girl, reaching out a hand to touch her cheek. The baby's eyes opened and Mary smiled once more._

_Bash's eyes._

_"What is her name?" Mary asked as the baby girl was wrapped up and given to the dishevelled beauty that was her mother._

_"Meredith. Meredith De Portiers."_

_**It hadn't been anything like Mary's own birthing experience.**_

_Pain. Pain unlike any she'd known previously. Unbearable pain, coming in vicious waves, different pains combining into one unbearable cocktail of suffering and agony. A sharp burn with so much surrounding agony that it made it almost unthinkable to even gasp for air._

_It was so hot. Why was the fire roaring?_

_Sheets doused in blood had been changed half a dozen times each day. So, so much blood. So much pain and blood. Servants seemed shaken whenever they carried the bucketfuls of once ivory-now crimson coloured cotton and satin. So much blood. So much pain. So many days. Still no baby._

_"Push, your Majesty!" A voice yelled from her legs. Screaming out, her throat burned worse than ever before. She shot the nurse a hard glare, all she had been doing was pushing, for days and days and days. And still, on the fourth day, still nothing._

_Mary felt her chest convulse. In sobs or gasps, she couldn't identify. Tears slipped down her cheeks, her mouth open in a silent cry._

_"Another!" the voice yelled again. The room was loud, not just because of her screams. Servants bustled around the large chambers, gathering sheets and cloths. The sloshing of bowls of water and alerting the pages and those waiting outside echoed throughout the room, as well as the cries of the physicians and the midwives. The Queen was struggling, the chance of both Queen and King -Prince?- transitioning into the next life grew by every passing minute._

_"Don't give up, Mary." another voice said. This one was familiar. It was Greer. Her favourite Lady clung to her hand, the right, her voice exhausted and trembling. "Please, don't give up!"_

_Mary cried out again, collapsing back against the pillows._

_"I can't!" she sobbed, shaking her head, her eyes closing on their own._

_"You can, Mary." Kenna murmured into her hair, on the other side of her, kissing the side of her head. "You can."_

_Another wave of pain. Another choked scream._

_"I can't." Mary repeated, her voice quieter now. "I can't." she confirmed._

_"Mary please, you can. You will live, your baby will live! Do not give up!" Greer cried into her ear._

_Her voice. Why was it so far away?_

_Choking on another sob, Mary felt the world start to spin and shrink. The Queen of Scotland welcomed it._

_The darkness closed in on her. The darkness was so inviting. So warm and inviting. No more pain. No more anything._

Gulping, The Empress came back to earth. James' birth had been horrid, almost five days of labour to finally produce her son. They had both nearly died, a mix of blood loos and too long spent in the womb almost being a killer. But, they had managed to survive. They had survived that ordeal, and they would survive this one.

Almost all of Court had deemed Francis dead by that point, their hopes of an alive Valois King diminishing by about her sixth month. So, they looked to her and her stomach. The one which held the future of France. So, it was vitally important that she and her child lived. Her child to be King, her to be regent.

Catherine hadn't been all that popular at that time. She had messed with the wrong lord, and that lord turned others against her. A France under her rule and Charles' crown would have folded under the pressure of ruling, especially when England started to turn from the long dead Tudor Queen Elizabeth and looked towards the Scottish Queen with her Imperial heir. The Tudor Queen had felt threatened, and turned darker, became more dangerous, so dark that she lost her head, thanks to an illegitimate pregnancy coming to light. Both she, the child and Robert Dudley had lost their heads, Mary replacing her on the throne.

It had nearly turned Elizabeth mad to know that Mary's child -and herself- lived through the hard birth, even worse when it was revealed that the child was a male. James had been but a few months old when he became heir to England as well, he being the key factor in placing his mother -and in ways, his father- on the English throne.

Her beloved seemed to have grown accustomed to his father over the last month. His little face lit up every time he saw the fair haired Frenchman who had now been accepted into his life and heart. The little child seemed so happy now, even starting to call Francis 'Papa' and not by a wordless giggle. Even now, he span in circles on his fathers' hand, laughing freely. His mother smiled at him from across the courtyard.

_Ah, the innocence of a child._

"My Lady, you must come to the throne room, there is an important guest who insists on seeing you." Mary heard in her ear. It was Steven.

"Who is it?" Mary asked.

"She did not give me her name, but she wishes to speak you in the throne room."

"Very well. Assign me a fleet of guards to the throne room." Mary ordered.

"Yes, Majesty." Steven bowed out, sending another page to inform the Empress that her small fleet was ready. Mary wasn't going to meet a strange visitor alone, not when so many opposed a catholic female monarch ruling an Empire in her own right.

Mary made her way to the throne room, settling into her impressive golden throne. The squire came into the room after a mint coloured caped figure made it's way into the room, head bent low. It made it's way through the sea of tense guards, kneeling at the bottom of the stairs leading to the throne. It's pale hands pulled down the hood, revealing brown curls.

Mary tensed.

"Your Imperial Majesty, the Lady Lola."


	14. Chapter 14

Playing in the gardens, the three year old Crown Prince of Great Britain and France sat on a blanket with his half cousin. The duo were giggling with Greer's children, two year old George and newborn little Rose. A ball was being passed around them, as well as a few small toys scattered along the blue blanket. Glass dishes of crumbled marzipan and sugared almonds were along the sides, as well as a few dishes of dark chocolate sweets. They giggled with each other, playing with their little toys, the perfect picture of childish innocence presented in that cobalt square.

James, the eldest of the quartet sat with his legs crossed underneath him, passing a ball back and forth to George, who was four months younger than him, matching curls splaying around their shoulders. George's light contrasted James' dark, but their dark eyes matched perfectly. Young Meredith was the eldest girl out of the quartet of children, six months younger than James and two months younger than George whilst his sister, tiny little Rose lay on the blanket, squealing as the ball passed her by, three months old and as sweet as honey. The youngest Lady Castleroy certainly adored her elders.

She started to squeal and make noise as her mother, the eldest Lady Castleroy appeared with the beautiful Baroness de Portiers. However, Bash, who stood near them, and the young Earl of Moray, who stood guard with his fellow bastard of a King, could see that both Ladies seemed troubled and far paler than usual. Their eyes were wider than usual, an uncertainty covering their usual peaceful auras.

"Kenna, what is it?" Bash asked, coming closer to his wife, taking her hand. She shook her head.

"Bash, something terrible has happened to Mary."

"What? What is it?" James, always so protective of his younger sister and Empress, said, his voice fast, throwing himself forwards, towards the Baroness.

"She collapsed an hour ago, the physicians say it's stress, but she has a fever. This cannot happen!" she almost exclaimed, but kept her voice quiet for the sake of the children.

"What?" James gasped. "Is she alright? How bad is the fever? It it because of that foolish husband of hers? I always said he was bad for her ever since he came to Scotland." he glared.

"We don't know, he's certainly a part of the stress, but it might be because of Lola."

"Lola? But Lola's locked away in France until Francis sends for her." Bash frowned.

"Not anymore, Catherine let her out, gave her safe passage to Court. She's residing as we speak." Greer added.

"How could this have happened? For all we know Lola could be the culprit, poison, perhaps."

"No. Lola has no ill will towards Mary. Lola's terified of her, she understands the power that Mary has over her. I know her, at least, I think I still do. She wouldn't dare try to kill an Empress, she's not that stupid. She's been frightened of Mary since her and Francis' return a year ago. She doesn't have the guts to attempt Regicide." Kenna shut down that argument. "We must tell her son, keep him informed."

"No," Bash said, gripping her bare arm as she attempted to walk to the young Crown Prince. "Let him enjoy the day, let him continue to be happy whilst he still can."

"Very well," Kenna agreed. "But, we need to go back to Mary. I have no idea what's happened there since we left." she said, turning her head to stare at the little Crown Prince of Great Britain and France as he laughed with her daughter.

Mary had been almost five weeks pregnant when Francis had left, all those years ago. Far enough to suspect that she was finally with child, but too soon to tell. When news of the plague had spread to the Court, Mary had fearlessly took charge of the castle. Food was evenly spread out amongst the plague stricken stone walls of the French Court, nobody having too much and nobody having nothing. She had proven herself a true Queen, whilst the King had ran away from his responsibilities to his people and Court to look for his bastard and the mother.

Mary had been heartbroken after Francis abandoned the both of them to fend for themselves once he learned of the plague. If it hadn't came, Mary would have had no issue with him going, but it had, and he knowingly abandoned his pregnant wife and Queen to a nightmare that became so, so much worse than the plague itself.

Two weeks after the abandonment and heartbreak, Mary had started to bleed. She and Nostradamus had been certain that she had lost the baby, for their had been so much blood and so much pain. She was left weakened and almost as dead as those afflicted by plague in her own right, so much so that Catherine had to take charge for almost nine days, until Mary was back on her -unsteady- feet once again. She had grieved for her baby, but that grief was unwarranted and not fruitful as signs of pregnancy continued to show. And then, Mary physically started to show, finally settling her poor, weakened heart.

They had announced it when Mary was four months pregnant, when Court really started to ask where Francis actually was. The facade of him going to a safe house in Germany was outed, and the reality of his true whereabouts was echoed throughout the Court, spreading across the country. Although they hadn't spoken of the fact Francis had gone looking for the mother of his bastard and said bastard, they had announced that Francis' safe house had been compromised by plague, and they had had no word on his safety.

After the announcement of Mary's pregnancy pacified those uncertain about her sole rule with their true King out in plague stricken lands, Court and France and England started looking past Francis and to the child in Mary's womb, knowing the true Majesty of this unborn child. They had rejoiced in the news of the pregnancy of the future King, whilst Scotland breathed a sigh of relief, knowing their power would be forever tied to the country across the water. Marie de Guise had been outed from power, James, earl of Moray the new regent under his sisters' command.

It was then that the Vatican had confronted the Valois-Angoulême clan, telling them that if Francis did not return before the anniversary of his disappearance, they would legally declare him to be dead. If the child Mary carried was a boy, he would be declared King of France. And, should it be a girl, Prince Charles would be crowned King. With no cause to refuse them, they had to accept and coincide with the Vatican's wishes. The disguised search parties went all around France, looking for the fallen King, more frequent than before. If they didn't come back with King in towe, Mary would be declared regent in her son's stead, and of course, they never did. Although some believed Francis to be dead, it had yet to be declared nor announced.

It was as Mary grew and grew into her seventh month did people really start believing that Francis was never coming back from his foolish hunt. Instantly, they looked from the thought to be dead King and to the Queen Consort and her unborn baby. Court had been insistent that this child was a boy, so much so that England started looking from the Protestant Elizabeth to the Catholic, pregnant, Mary. To the future, as the simple truth was never more obvious. Because Mary was married (widowed?) and pregnant, she was simply a better prospect for England than Elizabeth.

When Scotland had heard of the King's run away and probable death, they had been happier than they had been when they heard of their Queen's pregnancy. All -including Catholics- had been dreading Mary's marriage, thinking they'd be under foreign rule rather than their own, considering the fact Marie de Guise started filtering Frenchman after Frenchmen throughout Scotland's royal court. Knowing their Scottish Queen answered to no man, and was to expect a baby, was what made them completely unified in Mary's favour.

Intelligent tolerant ruling from the Queen Consort and future regnant quickly squashed any religious hatred from Frenchmen to Frenchmen. Although both sides could not stand each other, they knew they had to work together to make France again one of the greatest powers in Europe. And so, they did. Following Scotland's lead, they followed suit, working together to build their might and wealth, not working against each other for a meaningless victory.

Just before Mary had given birth to James, Elizabeth was outed for an illegitimate pregnancy sired by the married Robert Dudley. That was all England -who had been steadily turning against her ever for five months- needed. She was labelled a whore by her people, not helped by the fact many thought her a bastard, and her head was taken, along with Robert Dudley's. Mary was crowned Queen and later Empress.

Days later, James was born. James, the young Duke of Rothsay and York, Dauphin of France, crown Prince of Wales, England, Scotland, France and Ireland. Mary's labour had been horrible, almost four days of pain and blood and contractions. The baby had refused to 'drop' and Mary had almost bled out. It was gruesome and horrid and unfathomable that both had survived. At one point, it had gotten so bad that she had names her brother regent for her Empire should she die and the child survived, and Catherine for France. All, including Mary and her ladies, had thought that the Empress would die in childbirth.

Of course, both had been strong enough to survive their ordeal. James was born, strong and healthy, and Mary recovered within seven weeks. Catherine and Kenna had planned the christening of the Dauphin, Catherine having the authority to claim James in her son's stead. The event was glorious, barely being shadowed by Mary's French coronation when the Queen was three months pregnant. With Francis gone, the authority fell to her, and she had to be coronated, even if Francis hadn't been.

He was given the name James Henry Stuart Valois-Angoulême, Dauphin of France, duke of Rothsay and Prince of Wales, as well as the duchy of Glasgow and Anjou.

Mother and child travelled to England soon after, for the grandest coronation of them all. Kenna and Catherine spared no expense for Mary's English coronation. It was grand and luxurious, all blue and gold and silver. England had celebrated the prospect of a strong, well rounded, unquestionable ruler and a strong, healthy male heir, one that hadn't been seen since the time of long dead King Henry and Prince Edward.

They travelled to Wales for the people to see her ruler and heir, before going up North to see Mary's homeland for the first time in over a decade. Her people had rejoiced at the sight of their Empress, the person who had brought them Empire and an heir. They were unquestionably under Scottish rule, the general thought of the King Regnant of France being dead being accepted by the Scots as easily as her future King was.

Mary had laughed and danced that night, the first one in Court, but only a few knew that she had cried that night.

It had been so hard. It had been so hard doing it all alone, Kenna remembered hearing Mary cry to her one night. She had missed Francis terribly, never having thought their reign would turn out like this. At that point, they had a mere eighteen days to find the King of France, and the guards -lead by Sebastian- had been as fruitless as ever.

As the days slowly dwindled into single figures, Mary presented a strong front in front of Scottish and English Court, but the Empress spent her nights crying in her son's nursery. Hope that Francis was alive had also been slipping from his wife, let alone his people. They had accepted it almost as quickly as they had done the rain or the sun. Kings were dispensable, after all.

They had been in the North, silencing some unrest from the Catholic clans when word had reached from Rome that the time had run out. Francis was declared dead. James was the King of France. Mary was the Queen Regnant of France.

Immediately, they had travelled back to France to consolidate power. James was crowned and Mary was given the title of Queen Mother, Dowager and Regent, Catherine being known as the Queen Grandmother, a title recently created by the Regent, but one that made the most sense in heinsight.

Mary had taken the news of Francis' legal death hard, Catherine falling into deep grief over the death of her golden child, but Bash had taken it the hardest. The pregnant Baroness had spent a month holding her husband as he cried at night, sobbing words about his baby brother and how much he missed him for leaving and hating him for doing so. The funeral was a small affair, not wanting France to know the truth about their King's death, a truly horrid day for all involved. Mary had barely spoken a word, choosing to cry and hold her newborn son who was now the King of France.

Mary and Bash had been torn apart by the whole prophecy ordeal, but had reconnected in their grief. The pregnant baroness had taken issue with it, but in heinsight, she knew it was just insecurity and jealousy coming through in her hormonal nature.

Many-a-night, the Queen Regent of France was found in the royal nursery holding her newborn on or one of Francis' youngest siblings. She was found crying silently, telling whomever stories of how much a good man Francis truly was, how we made mistakes, but how he loved them all and would have been with them if he could.

James had truly been the glue that had held them all together in those horrid months of grief and pain. His sweet smile and melodic laugh had seemed like a gift from God, for taking Francis away but giving them something much desired. A son, an heir, but most truly, a part of Francis. Something that the Queen Regent had once feared she would never be gifted.

Of course, then began the constant moving around for months at a time. A few weeks in Ireland, another in Wales, a few months in England, another in Scotland and another in France. But, Mary was not a stupid woman. She knew to properly secure her rule -even if it was strong and consolidated, she was a powerful woman in a man's world and many would lust to see her dead- she needed more heirs. More sons ready to take the throne, a few daughters for the marriage market. And, as strong as James was and would always be, he wasn't indestructible. Anything could happen to him, and, after all, she was never supposed to be Queen. She, herself, was a spare heir, having two dead elder brothers who left this world before she arrived.

So, the marriage to Darnley was announced, their marriage quick and swift and honeymoon even shorter. By then, both Greer and Kenna had given birth to a son and daughter respectively, having a new respect for their Empress in a way. Childbirth and pregnancy was by no means fun, after all.

But James was always held in a higher pedestal than any child she could have sired with Darnley. Not because of any malice to her never to be born children, but simply because James held the blood of the man, after everything, Mary loved the most. An Imperial heir was irreplaceable to her, no matter how dispensable Kings were and are.

The child was as strong as any long living child before him. Sweet and smart, constantly doing things before his nannies and nursemaids expected him to. Talking and walking before it was warranted, eating sold foods and cutting teeth quicker than expected, but he was so attached to his mother. He adored her like her adored no other, so protective and perceptive that he let nobody whom he didn't trust get to close to her.

Having always enjoyed the nursing time he had with her, it was a horrid change of pace to no longer have that sacred time, never settling properly until he had felt his mothers' skin and heard the sound of her voice for minutes at a time. They had such a strong bond that Henry -their marriage was tumultuous at best at the start- could only dream of.

Whilst James was accustomed to not seeing his mother as she ruled over five Kingdoms, he was always with her in some ways. Playing quietly with his cousins and uncles and aunts as Mary dressed for the day, sleeping in her chambers at night, having breakfast and dinners with his mother and never settling until she had temporarily escaped from whatever council meeting she had going on that night for a few moments of blissful sanctuary.

It was because of this that James found it so hard to become accustomed to Francis. He didn't want his mother too hurt how she had done in the worst moments with Darnley, nor did he like somebody he didn't know becoming close to his beloved mother, especially because he could sense the tension radiating off of her whenever Francis was around in France.

Although things had started to mellow with James and his father, slowly enjoying the fair haired Frenchman's company after so many years of not knowing who he was, things still weren't on par with what could be. It was to do with Mary still not completely trusting her husband once more, still and always would be weary of him, almost waiting for a second betrayal, hardening her heart in preparation for the event. Even though the situation with Lola was still going on, he hadn't made such a mistake that she couldn't' forgive.

Yet, that is.

Francis immediately returned to Mary's rooms after his confrontation with Lola. He sat at her side, clasping her hand tightly, silently praying for her to wake up as soon as possible. Still, Mary lay silently in her bed, her chest moving steadily up and down, skin burning to the touch, even with the cold cloths laying upon her skin.

"Please, wake up, love." Francis whispered, leaning a little closer. He placed a hand on her hot forehead, becoming concerned with not only the heat, but the lack of water on her brow. "Please." he whispered again, tightening his hand on her own, swallowing back the emotion at the lack of physical response. "I love you." he finished, placing a few errant locks of hair away from her face. He kissed her cheek softly, his face drawn with the concern he felt for his wife.

"My lord," a voice said. Looking up, Francis saw one of the physicians, Sir Matthias, come into the room, laden with a leather bag.

"Sir Matthias." he acknowledged.

"Has their been a change with the Empress' condition?" he asked.

"No, nothing." he said, his voice low. "She hasn't moved as much." he said, miserable and afraid.

The strong broot of a doctor came closer with Francis' permission, touching parts of Mary's face and neck in quick succession.

"Her fever has worsened." the physician concluded, slowly pulling her chin down to expose her mouth. He tipped a few vials into her mouth, turning her head back to let the liquid slide down her throat.

"What's wrong with her?" he asked.

"I'm not sure, my lord." he frowned. "The Empress is with fever, yet no obvious signs of infection can be found." he paused. "Keep the sheets pulled back and constantly place newer, cold cloths on her skin. She must keep hydrated."

"How can I do that? She's unconscious." Francis stated.

"Tip a small amount of water in her mouth and raise the chin to replicate swallowing, but not as she inhales. Not too much, we don't want the Empress to choke or potentially drown." he instructed.

"Of course." he nodded. "Thank you, sir Matthias."

He bowed out and left the room.

Francis did as he was told, constantly dipping water into Mary's mouth and changing her cloths to keep the water on her skin cold. He followed his orders for hours, and by then the moon had risen and court was aware of their Empress' sickness. The Earl of Moray kept the gossip at court minimal at most, claiming Mary was simply exhausted and had an easily treated infection.

All the time that he was keeping Mary's true condition under wraps, the physicians gave him constant updates, as well as Kenna and Greer, who were taking turns seeing the children and making sure James was as unaware as possible, saying that his mother was merely sleeping and would join him when she woke up. But, they both knew that the lie could only go so far. The boy was smart, after all.

Currently, Francis still sat where he had been all day, trying his best to take care of her with the assistance of sir Matthias and the Ladies in waiting, both of whom had been reluctant to leave the bedchambers of the Empress. It had been almost half a day since Mary had collapsed, and still, she did not wake.

Suddenly, the door slammed open and Kenna jumped, seeing Mary's half brother come barrelling into the room like a bull seeing red. He headed straight for Francis, ripping him away from the slumbering beauty and roughly pinning him against the door to the balcony in quick succession.

"James!" Kenna shrieked as the Earl suddenly balled a fist and brought it squarely into Francis' cheek, snapping the King's face to one side, yelling at him all the way.

"You get away from her!" he had yelled as Francis started to struggle against him. "This is your fault! All of it! If you hadn't brought your whore to Scotland, this never would have happened!" he roared. The Earl had always been so protective of Mary and James, even more so when he had learned what Francis had done to her in the past.

"Get away from him, James! This isn't his fault!" Greer had tried to say, rushing from the sleeping Empress to her furious bastard half brother, pulling at his arms that were locked tight at the fingers to Francis' doublet.

"Get off of me!" Francis snapped, shoving his half brother in law away from him. James stumbled back a few steps. Francis knew how to handle himself, having remained muscular and physically strong since the Battle for Callas.

"This is all your fault! You did this to her! You brought this on her and us!" he snapped, not daring to struggle against Greer as she held him back, for fear of hurting the Lady he had grown fond of, never one to harm a woman was the Earl of Moray.

"I did not! She's unwell, that's just an unfortunate thing. This is not my fault!" Francis tried to convince them both, Greer standing in the middle of them with her arms out, pointing at either one of them.

"You must be more stupid than my sister told me you were to be! If you hadn't brought your whore to Scotland, this wouldn't have happened! She collapsed because of you and that Flemming harlot!" James yelled.

He was pulled away from Greer by Sebastian, who in himself was so protective of Francis. Bash brought James close, but he was so thin compared to the muscular Scot.

"You forget who you are talking to! That is the King of France, your Emperor!" Bash threatened.

"This is nothing to do with you! He caused this!" James snapped.

Bash opened his mouth to reply, but the door banged open again, and another James ran into the room, crying for 'mama' with every movement of his little feet. Francis tensed at the sight of the crying little boy who cleared the high up bed with one brave jump.

Quickly, he crawled over to Mary on the bed, zooming past Kenna to latch onto his mother.

"Mama! Mama!" James cried. "Wake up, mama!"

The tension in the room drained from the floor, leaving only room for sadness and empathy for the tiny toddler who was crying for his mother.

"James, come on," Kenna whispered, looking exhausted, "Shh, now." she said, but James did something he'd never done before. He refused her arms and clung deeper to his mothers' limp for, crying harder as he realised Mary's arms weren't around his as they always were when he held her.

Francis took a step closer to his son, walking until his knees and legs touched the bed, but James jumped away from his arms as he had done seven months ago.

"No! No! No!" the little boy cried, clinging to his mothers' form tighter, so tight that he thought he'd be taken away.

"James," Francis began, quietly.

"No, mama is sick because of you!" he cried.

Francis slowly opened his mouth to reply, but Bash, now away from the elder James, spoke first.

"James, this isn't your fathers' fault." he tried to soothe.

"Yes, it is!" he cried. "Papa said he wouldn't be mean again, but he has! Mama is sick because he spoke to the mean boys' mama!"


	15. Chapter 15

_Lola, I think we need to talk about your liaison with Francis in Paris."_

_"Kenna, I can't do this right now." _

_"Because you're tired. You've been tired a lot. You're pale, you're not eating, your new gown doesn't fit. You acted so strangely when you were at home with Francis. You're pregnant, aren't you?"_

_A pause._

_"Fast work. Well done!"_

_Another._

_"There is no better way for a royal mistress to secure her place. Look at Diane. If I could have managed it, but the king is well versed in avoiding such issues."_

_"Don't congratulate me. I'm not Francis's mistress. It was one night. A-A moment of comfort. Do you have any idea how this will shame my family in Scotland? And what will it do to Mary?"_

_"I understand that you're worried. Mary won't take it well, not at first. But think of it, in time, she'll recover, and Francis will be a loving father. He'd want the child to grow up here, and he'd probably let you raise it."_

_"Let me? I'm the child's mother."_

_"Yes, well, I'm sure that you would play some part. As long as you don't anger Mary and you keep Francis's interest. Regardless, Lola, your position at French court is assured for life."_

_"For life? But as what? Kenna, I can't do this."_

"Lola!" Kenna shrieked as she stormed into Lola's chambers the next morning. From the small bed, the short little Lady shot up from her seat and looked Kenna in the eye. Blue eyes were ringed with red and her face was flushed. Her hair was messy and her gown and crochet cardigan crooked. Posture was crooked and her body pale and slumped. She looked exhausted. From inside the little chambers, the Lady's little bastard ran around, yelling and screaming in a tongue that wasn't any language. Neither gave him a second look, simply stood looking at each other. Neither spoke.

Lola looked horrible, but a sick part of Kenna was satisfied by the dishevelled apprentice of the former Lady in Waiting. Her white gown was ill fitting, clinging too tightly to her bodice and falling too low on her chest, the skirt was too puffy and embroidered roses were too small. On her biceps, a crimson-rose crochet cardigan hung loosely, one shoulder exposed. Brown curls were messy, the remnants of a bun falling out of place on top of her head. No jewellery, nor nothing on her feet besides the far too long skirt.

"Kenna, what is it? Is it Mary?" Lola asked, fiddling with her hands, looking her friend in the eye nervously. Her voice was dry and cracked on the fourth word. She looked horrible and sounded exhausted. Kenna's dark eyes narrowed as she looked at her fellow Scottish noble blooded woman. Her eyebrows furrowed, the well dressed Baroness in wrinkled golden satin didn't look much better, however. Brown silky hair was messy and there were bags under her eyes, having been up the whole night with Mary. The Empress still hadn't woken and had turned a deathly pale during the night, her fever had worsened and still hadn't broken. She hadn't moved a muscle even, hadn't cried out after another fever spike, she hadn't done anything but lay there for over a day.

"No. It is not. She's still asleep. Has been for almost an entire day, now. I do believe that she told you that you may stay for a night, then you must leave. Judging by the look on your face, I am right. So, if that it the case, why have you started unpacking?" Kenna asked, brushed a few strands of messy, matted brunette hair out of her face. Some parts of her hair had been braided back, but most of it had fallen loose. Her makeup was smudged after a night of having it on and her gown was wrinkled, all gold satin and white organza in a rumpled state. There were bags under her eyes, more viable than the nights she had Meredith when she was a newborn that didn't sleep through the night. She was even worse than Rose, who although was a good baby, the girl was nocturnal. A stark contrast to James and George who took to sleeping at night like ducks to water.

"I spoke with Francis-" Lola started.

"I am aware."

"He told me that I can stay until he finds me a husband." Lola's voice was quiet. She sounded shattered.

"Now, I don't think he did." Kenna shook her head. "He told you that you will be married off to some noble of no real power. He did not say you could stay. He has no authority to. This is Mary's court. You are in Mary's country." Kenna snapped.

"Yes, yes, I know." she looked down.

"You know, what?"

"We are in Mary's country, Mary's court. She told me I could stay the night-"

"The night is over. Leave. Now. Before you cause any more drama."

"Drama?"

"I had a funny little conversation with a certain upset Crown Prince last night, as he clung to his mothers' lifeless body." Kenna started. Lola swallowed thickly, in a way that was obvious to the fellow Scot. "He told me and all who were in the room that the reason his mother is unwell is because his father talked to the woman of the mean little boy. What could he mean by that?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, yes, you do." Kenna shot down. "Somehow he has found out that you and Francis were talking yesterday. But, that is not what concerns us all. He told us you were the mother of the mean boy. And, judging by your son's current actions, I can think of who that boy is." Kenna looked over Lola's shoulder to her screaming toddler. "Have they met?" she asked.

Lola said nothing.

"Answer me!" she yelled. John yelped out, screaming louder.

"Yes."

By the side of the Empress sat the Emperor. He held her hand. His left was soft against hers, his fingers gently tangled with hers, the thumb absentmindedly stroking the back of her hot palm. But the other was clenched tightly in a fist, his knuckles white with blinding fury and anger.

How could this have happened? Covert conversations back in France had informed the mother of his eldest child that in so uncertain terms should the children meet. Not yet, at least. Until further notice, the boys were to stay where they were, in two different countries with an ocean separating them. Yes, said mother nulls the distance, lies to him and his wife and lets the boys meet?! What was wrong with her?!

How could his own mother have let this happen? Catherine de Medici, the Queen Mother of France, was left as regent until he returned to France. Strict instructions had been put in place about the King of France's personal and professional life. Nobles who tried to blackmail the crown would be imprisoned, don't spill blood if it is not necessary and do not let Lola Flemming out of the Castle, let alone the country. Yet, she had. Why?!

In her mind, was she doing him a favour?! Was she helping him, in her mind? By letting the harlot loose and giving her safe passage to Edinburgh? By unintentionally having heir and bastard meet? By potentially ruining his marriage and turning his royal heir away from him?

He turned to said heir. Said heir slept on his mothers' chest, a tiny thumb in his mouth, mumbled 'meep's and 'myoo's leaving his little, pouted lips as he dreamed. His head was over her heart, listening to her heartbeat, comforted by the soft air of her exhales against his dark curls. He had part of her white satin shift in his little fist, the triangle between nightdress and shoulder strap. The tiny boy had barely been pulled away long enough to dress in some cotton slacks and a night shirt a few hours ago, who had fallen asleep just after dusk.

Physicans had worked tirelessly into the night to help heal their Empress, who had taken a turn for the worst during the first night of her slumber. Her fever had worsened, a sweat hadn't appeared, her skin had paled drastically and she still hadn't woken. Because of the dramatic change, her son had to be dragged away from her, Greer having a lot of trouble keeping the crying little boy a few feet away from his ailing mother as she was seen to by the physicians. It was only when they had declared that they had done all they could do for her that James was allowed back on the bed. It had been past midnight at that time, so the little boy was tired and afraid and just wanted his mother. He had fallen asleep the moment he saw his near father and was touching his limp mother again. It was only because it wasn't diagnosed as a contagious illness that he was allowed so near.

Their bastard half brothers stood guard a few feet away, the room heavily guarded from outside. Francis hadn't left her side for a moment, ever the valiant guard to his most prized possessions.

_"Marie! Wake up, Marie!" a voice smiled to the young Queen of Scotland. Her eyes stayed closed, hearing the voice of her betrothed, getting ever so impatient to rouse her from rest whenever he awoke from the Kingdom of dreams before she did._

_His voice. Why was it so blurry?_

_Her eyes stayed closed. Maybe if he thought she was still sleeping, he'd go back to bothering Elisabeth, trying to rouse her instead, or play a game before their handmaidens came into the royal nursery to dress them for the day._

_But still, he persisted._

_"Marie!" his voice had taken on a wine now. "Wake up!" her bed suddenly rocked, meaning he'd jumped up from the floor onto her mattress. She heard her golden sparkle sheer bed curtains rip from side to side. And he crawled over towards her._

_He was touching her shoulder now, rocking her back and forth roughly._

_"Marie! I know you're not still asleep! Wake up!" he demanded._

_She mumbled a curse in her mother tongue, rolling onto her back and opening her eyes reluctantly._

_She opened her mouth to give him a piece of her fuzzy mind, but he beat her to it. His eyes opened wider and his mouth opened in a gasp._

_"Marie! You look horrid! Are you sick?" he asked. Swallowing back the urge to hit him after his innocent insult, all she did was swallow thickly and make a noise that sounded somewhere between a whimper and a moan._

_Her head. Her head ached more than she could remember it ever aching before. Her throat burned worse than the poison she'd ingested just three weeks before. Mary shuddered at the memory of the burn in her throat and her body, the wordless screams from her and the fellow royal children, the rush of the doctors and the yells from the King and Queen of France._

_Suddenly, his hands were on her face, touching her forehead and cheeks in a way he remembered his mother doing so, accidentally pulling her cheeks back and her forehead up a little, letting up at the snarl she let out, far less threatening than she wished it to be, but forgave herself given her current situation._

_Mary's head fell to the side, the world suddenly starting to spin. Her eyes closed slowly, much to the dismay of her future husband. He shook her vigorously. Her eyes fluttered open, her dazed eyes met his. All golden and green and brown meeting the brightest blue she knew she'd ever know._

_He said something, but the sudden pounding in her head made it impossible to hear what he had actually said. He took her lack of response and an arm slung over her head as response enough and leaped off of her and her bed, rushing out of the room, yelling for the guards to alert the physician._

_Later, Mary was curled up to her betrothed, buried deep into his arms, covered by sheet after sheet of white cotton. The physician had given her tonics and herbs, altered the King and Queen of the future Dauphine's illness, then had taken off to brew her a special kind of soup and tea. He quietly hummed a French tune he remembered his mother singing to him when he was unwell, absentmindedly stroked her raven curls as she slowly fell off to the Kingdom of dreams once more._

_And, not long after, the Dauphin followed. And that's how the King and Queen of France had found them not ten minutes later. Wrapped in each others' arms, buried deep in the white covers, soft smiles of contentment on their little faces. _

**She had recovered then,** Francis silently reasoned with himself, looking back over at his Empress and heir**. And she will recover now.**

"Has there been any changes, Francis?" Greer asked as she came into the room. Upon Castleroy's insistence, Greer had left Mary for a few hours, long enough to rest, bathe and re dress. It had passed mid day, the second day Mary would spend asleep.

"No, there hasn't." came the tired response. Francis hadn't left her side ever since he talked with Lola, and had spent the entire night awake, just monitoring her for the slightest change, weather that be good or bad.

The King looked awful. His cheek and eye were bruised from James' blow a few hours ago, and his eyes were red rimmed from the latest negative turn. His face was pale, all dark circles and ashen skin. Blonde curls were unruly, falling in a million different directions. His clothes were askew and wrinkled, doublet long since forgotten on the back of a near bye chair. He looked exhausted and thin, arguably more than his wife did.

"She's just laying there. She won't wake up, no matter what Matthias tries." he added, pressing a kiss to the back of her hot hand, as if trying to breathe life back into it.

"Court knows that she's unresponsive." Greer sighed, coming close and running her fingers through Mary's long locks. Mary's favourite Lady in waiting looked considerably better, all donned in a dark blue satin gown, long blonde locks pinned up at the sides, even if she was dressed a might less fancily than she usually was. No jewellery and no head piece, no high heeled shoes and no makeup. She looked younger than usual, but worry for Mary had aged her tenfold.

"James is trying to stifle their concerns, sating that it's simply just exhaustion and stress, but we know it's more than that."she finished, running her fingertips over Mary's bare arm. The skin burned to the touch. She bit her lip silently, feeling the fever that had worsened since she left before breakfast.

"Yes, it is." he said, softly. "God only knows what's ailing her." he finished, looking down at the face of his slumbering beauty. She looked so serene yet sickly, exhausted yet radiant. Raven coloured waves were splayed all over the white satin pillows. Her face was a chalky white -a stark contract to the usual glowing porcelain- and there were dark circles around her eyes. The lids were gently closed, face and body thinner than usual. She looked so small in that bed, clothed only in a white silk night gown.

Greer said nothing, simply dunk another piece of cloth into a bowl of cold water, dragging it over Mary's forehead. The Empress did nothing in response. Greer bit her lip in worry.

"She's so warm." she said, her voice quiet.

"Her fever's worsened over the last few hours." Francis nodded. "She worsened again at luncheon. The physicians still don't know what to do. They can find no signs of infection, nor of illness. All they can do is keep giving her vials, broth and water, try to keep her cool. They don't know how to wake her up." he looked deeply into her slumbering face, running his spare hand down her arm, settling on her cheek.

"She will wake up, Francis." Greer started. "She has to."

"How could you?!" Kenna yelled. "You knew what Mary thought about them meeting!" she exclaimed.

"Yes, but I thought if meetings might go well, how they did when Francis was introduced, then Mary might change her mind. Allow me to stay with my son, the boys growing to be like Francis and Sebastian." Lola tried to defend.

"Do not make me laugh!" Kenna snapped. "You know damn well that your bastard will never be accepted, by James or by anyone! It's just because Catherine poisoned Francis' mind against Mary that your child has lands and titles. But, guess what, your child will never be more than a bastard! He has no future! He will be treated with scorn and neglect until he dies because you were too stupid to be loyal!"

"They weren't together, it was one night!"

"One night." Kenba laughed. "Does that make it better? That you whored yourself out for a few minutes of relief just because they weren't together? Guess what, Lady Lola, they were still engaged! The engagement was never officially severed! They still loved each other, they were still technically together! And you slept with him! Do you have any idea what you actually did? For a few moments of pleasure, you changed the course of nations, and because you forced James to meet your bastard, you have signed his death warrant!" Kenna yelled. "How could you do that, steal away Mary's husband for over two years, deprive her son of a father all because you wanted to sleep with him!" Kenna cried. "Not only have you signed your son's death warrant, you have ruined yourself! You aren't virtuous, Lola! Did you honestly not know what that would mean for you even if you hadn't gotten pregnant! Are you that nieve to the world around you? Are you that stupid that you thought one night of treasonous passion wouldn't have catastrophic effects? Did you forget about Olivia? Did you forget about her scorn in France? No, you slept with Collen beforehand, you're no better than a common whore, you're thought of as a harlot! And you deserve it!" Kenna yelled.

"Do you forget who you were, who you married?" Lola snapped, tears in her eyes. It was a last ditch attempt at defense.

"Yes, I was Henry's mistress and he forced me to marry his bastard son." Kenna rolled her eyes. "But we are happy! We have a beautiful daughter, he is a Baron, he is wealthy because of his service to the crown. We are loyal to Mary, and what were you? You slept with the man she loved, conceived his own bastard ran away with them to play house for over two years! What is wrong with you?!"

"I made a mistake! So, you've done everything perfect in your life, have you?" Lola snapped, small tears running down her cheeks. "You congratulated me on my bastard pregnancy, and now you berate me for it?"

"I grew up! I had a daughter, I became a wife! But you, you stayed right where you are! You are such a foolish child! And you expect to me to comfort you for the punishment you've brought upon yourself?" she snapped.

"I-I-"

"No, you listen to me! Do you have any idea what you did? If you whored yourself out and got pregnant, even with Collens child, you wouldn't be so scorned. But, of all the people you could have slept with, did it have to be him? Did it have to be Francis' child that you got pregnant with? Do you know the consequences? It is treason! High treason! More and more people on this island know of your treason, and if Mary's privy council calls for your head, your justified execution, she must provide it! By staying in France, under their King's protection, you would have been safe! But, no, you had to come here and ruin them! They were starting to be happy! Happy together, with James! And you come here with your bastard and ruin it!" Kenna yelled.

"I did not! Our situation is just something we have to deal with!"

"Deal with? This is not some sort of little political issue, nor a personal one, this is betrayal! This is treason! This will ultimately resulting in death! Francis' sons will rip each apart as they grow up, which is why they they were meant to be kept apart!"

"They are brothers! They can get used to each other in time!"

"Half brothers." Kenna reminded. "Neither are pieces of clay to be moulded to think what you and Francis want because you don't like what you've done!" Kenna yelled. "Oh sweet, innocent, loyal little Lola, use your head! Think! How could you do something like that! Mary was nothing but kind and gracious to you, and you do that? You don't deserve her kindness, you don't deserve her protection. God knows why she wishes to protect you, I have no idea why she still does. But now, even as she could be dying, she's still protecting you!"

"I know that!" Lola sobbed. "You think I do not? Her kindness and protection is a worse punishment than execution, forced marriage and disownment! But I cannot change what I did!"

"Do you have any idea what you did? If Mary wasn't pregnant with James and Francis claimed your son, she could have been executed! She could have been executed for her marriage to Henry, something that happened because of you! You could have ruined her!"

"I know! I know and I am so sorry! But I cannot change it, I cannot!"

"Francis." Bash said, slowly coming into darkened bed chambers. The royal chambers of Edinburgh Castle were lit only by candles littered all around the room and a roaring fire. Sebastian had been helping the Earl of Moray act as regent. James had been named Mary's second in command, being assisted by David Rizzo and the Lord Bothwell. But, they were horrendously busy maintaining order with the east of Wales and the west of England. So, the Baron -who had always assisted Mary whenever she travelled to England with baby James- was on command to help. Besides, he had been feeling slightly awkward and out of place with the Empress out if commission.

Francis, who had been dozing at Mary's side, let his head snap up. He briefly looked at Greer, who slept soundlessly on Mary's other side, before turning to his elder half brother.

"Brother." Francis acknowledged, sitting up straighter, groaning quietly at the feeling of his stiff bones cracking underneath his black leather doublet. "What is it?" he asked.

"Has their been any changes? Kenna seemed quite upset after the last visit from sir Matthias." Bash came closer. He glanced at the bed, unable to clearly see Mary from her sheer ivory bed curtains that were closed by a small bow at the foot of the bed. Greer -he could see- was curled up at Mary's side, her knees curled up underneath the blue satin skirts she wore, one arm extended out as a pillow, a limp hand fitting the white satin pillow nearest her.

Mary slept soundlessly still, next to Greer. Her nightgown was white, oversized chiffon sleeves providing little warmth. Her arms were bound simply over her ribs, hair brushed out and sprawled over the pillows, arms and blankets over her.

Francis sat on an oak chair next to the closed curtains. His back was reclined on a lilac satin pillow on the back rest, arms extended on the arm rests. He faced the bed curtains, one hand slipping underneath the curtain, looking intently at her calm face. His leather ensemble was askew and wrinkled, obviously not having changed since his Empress fell unconscious.

"She's started responding to some medications that Matthias has provided, her fever's gone down somewhat, theres some colour back in her cheeks. But," he sighed. "he still cannot figure out what is actually wrong with her. No physician can. It's just a matter of her waking up. If she does, they'll consider it sweating sickness and be done with it unless she shows symptoms and can speak of what they are." Francis finished.

"What if she does not? There's every possibility that she will not wake."

"Aren't you suddenly the pessimist?" Francis replied. 'Where's Kenna? You said she was upset."

"I assumed that she heard negative news of Mary. Her face was streaked with tears, she is not happy."

"No. I am not." Kenna said, suddenly coming into the room. Francis looked over to her. "My emotions were not to do with the Empress, although I do worry for her. They are to do with Lola."

"She is still here?"

"Yes. She unpacks. She tries to justify her comg here, her actions over the past three years."

"Really? She's told you that?"

"She did."

Bash looked to Francis. "You must tell her to leave. Immediately. Move her and the child to Dunbar. Immediately."

"Of course." Francis nodded. Bash waited until his brother was face to face with him, before speaking again.

"I understand all the reasons for you doing what you have over the past years. I do, but you must understand others' feelings about what you did. I will defend you, but I will not justify what you did. But, in many ways, you could be held responsible for what has happened to your wife. But, if James grows up without a mother because of what has happened between you, I will never forgive you."


	16. Chapter 16

"What the hell are you doing here?" Francis snapped, not even knocking the door to Lola's little chambers.

The mother of his bastard opened her mouth to reply, but little John beat her to it.

"Papa!" he yelled, running over to Francis. His blonde hair was shaggy and dishevelled, cheeks red and puffy, eyes to match. Francis winced as he heard the name coming from his eldest's mouth, even more when he caught eyes with the little boy. Somehow, after relishing in the times James called him that, to hear John call him it seemed wrong.

"Hello, little one." he tried to smile, picking up the boy and placing him on his hip. He caught sight of an equally as dishevelled Lola, who smiled at him. Gratefully, it seemed.

"Don't get any ideas. We're not going to play family, especially not here." Francis warned. They had done quite enough of that in Italy, it wasn't happening again, especially when they were in Mary's country and court, and she could be dying. He looked back at his son, eyes softening a little. "What's wrong, little one?"

"Mama being mean!"

"What's she done?"

"Don't want to go to bed, don't want to go anywhere else!" he babbled. "I miss you, papa! You're never here any more!" he cried, clinging to Francis.

Those words hurt. He knew he had to spend more time with James. After all, the precious little boy was a product of his pure love with Mary, whilst the one he held in his arms was a product of pain, betrayal and treason. He knew he had to establish a bond with him after abandoning him before he was even born, and Francis was well aware that he had to always pick James -and any, god willing, other children he may have with Mary- over John, but hearing the words come out from John's lips made him instantly conflicted. He didn't like the thought of choosing one son over the other, nor did he like the fact that -looking back on it- he was neglecting one son and relishing in the joy of another.

Doesn't that sound familiar, Francis inwardly thought, rolling his eyes quickly. There was no two ways around it. He was turning into Henry, only this time, he was favouring and adoring the heir and neglecting the bastard child, instead of the other way around. Damn his father, why couldn't he have shown him how to properly father a child? He's made rather a mess of it, if the truth's being told.

"It's alright, I promise." he tried to soothe, feeling rather awkward. He'd spent so much time with James over the last while, feeling so comfortable around him that he could comfort without a second thought. Providing the same comfort to John now felt wrong in a way. He knew he shouldn't feel like this, he wasn't really being a good father to either of his sons, but how could this be remedied?

If he spent time with John, the more obvious it would become to everybody at Court that John was his son, making Lola truly ruined. If James saw him spend time with his other son, the greater possibility that he'd tell his mother when she woke up and the greater chance that his son would shut him out of his heart, for the child was intelligent and perceptive beyond his years.

But, if he spent more time with James, then this little boy -who was the only one innocent in all of this and would be the one to face the brunt of all this- would feel neglected and pushed out. Then, he'd grow to hate James -and, god willing, any other sons or daughters he and May may have- and Mary's prophecy of hatred, rivalry and death would come true. Never mind the fact that in Italy, Francis hadn't spent a day without John, the boy was probably confused about why his father was never there for him anymore.

Good god, why did he let fatherhood become so complicated?

"Francis." a voice hissed from behind him. The King of France turned to see his own bastard brother standing in the doorway. "You cannot enter her chambers alone in the night, Mary's girls will talk." Bash hissed.

Ah, Francis didn't think of that.

"Bash!" John exclaimed, reaching for his fellow out of wedlock son. Slowly, Bash took the little boy into his arms.

"I'll take him around the castle for a while, let him rest with Kenna and I. You two, fix this." Bash ordered, giving Francis a slight bow as he left with John.

"Thank you, he's been screaming all day." Lola began her grateful speech.

"Enough!" Francis interjected. "Why are you here? I want no more lies. I have had it with your lies and deception! Why are you here?"

"I want to see my family. I want to smooth things over with them, should they have found out about our son. If anything should happen to me, I would want him to be with his family. I didn't come for you, although it's nice for our son to finally see you after so long apart."

"And who let you? My mother?" Francis spat.

"Yes."

"Damn you! You know what I told you! I didn't want you to leave the castle until I had sorted things out with Mary! You know why I don't want you and our son around!"

"He is innocent in all this!"

"I know that and that is not what I mean. Like it or not, he will cause problems. He already has! My mother didn't let you go so you could make nice with your family, she let you go because for some unknown reason, she thinks I will be happier with Mary gone from my life and you as my mistress!"

"Why would she think that?"

"I don't know, her own marriage, perhaps? They drilled it into my head when I grew up, so much so that I nearly lost Mary before I even had her! She's actively trying to ruin my marriage, she should know better!"

"Francis, I-"

"As should you!" he interrupted. "You should know better than this! I thought you smart in France, clearly I overestimated you! I gave you solace in John's holdings, income in those. With the condition that you do not interject yourself in my marriage, which you have done!"

"I have not, I-"

"No! You have! By interjecting yourself into Mary's court, you caused this!"

"I did not! It could be anything!"

"Let me think, the physicians think it to be stress related, and the moment you show up in Scotland, Mary collapses after so many months of turmoil in our marriage! Do you see a pattern in that?"

"Francis, let me-"

"You do not command me to do anything! Why are you here? Why couldn't you have gone to the Flemming's estate and never shown your face in this Court in the first place?"

"John needed to see his father, we needed to rest after the trip, our boat nearly went down-"

"Give me an honest answer. You've been lying to me since I conceived John with you." Francis growled. He couldn't bare to say that he slept with her. Knowing what he did now, the thought made him sick.

"I am being honest, I am! I needed to make sure he didn't come down with something, and Court was the first place that came to mind!"

"Why not one of the peasant houses? You had no problem giving birth in one in France."

"France isn't Scotland. I am notorious for what I've done. Nobody knew at that point."

Francis said nothing.

"I had to make sure John wouldn't get sick. Mary gave us a bed and-"

"You have not moved. Why? Why?"

"I need an answer from my parents before I enter their estate."

"It wouldn't surprise me if you haven't sent the letter in the first place." he chuckled humorlessly.

"I would not do that!"

"Wouldn't you? You've lied to me since John, you lie to Mary now. Why wouldn't you stop now?"

"I needed to get my son to safety and-"

"You came to court, the one place that you could have been safe from. People have seen you, Lola! People have seen you and they've seen John, they know what has happened! They know he is ours! Nobody will marry you! You're ruined, no virtue, a bastard son of a King and living off my hospitalises forever! Why couldn't you have just stayed in France like I told you to?!"

"I do not follow your orders! You have not made me your mistress, I am still Mary's subject!"

"There's a difference between following a King's order and being simply stupid! Everybody knows! I tried to protect your secret as you kept it from me! Like how you made Mary keep it from me! How could you be so stupid?!"

"Let me-"

"No! You brought this upon yourself! Why didn't you just come back to court that day, why did you stop at a peasant house, getting yourself, John and I stuck out in plague stricken lands for three weeks, and to top it off, we were stuck in Italy for over two years! My son didn't know me because of you! We nearly killed Mary twice over, do not act like the victim! You are a victim of your own actions and your own consequences! They are the victims, Mary and James!"

"Please, stop!"

"No! You come here and damn near ruin my marriage along with my mother? Why can't the two of you just let Mary and I be happy? We were so close to being happy with James, but the moment you step foot into our lives again, Mary nearly died! She still could! Why did you do that? Why can you not follow a simple command and trust measures that have been made for you?"

"Because I did not think it right! I am not your subject, you cannot order me to do anything, I am simply your rumoured mistress! The rumours are in many ways worse than it being true! I am ruined!"

"Because of your mistakes!"

"You were a willing participant! You kissed me first!"

"And you should have thought about loyalty and treason before letting it go on!"

"I tried!"

"Not very hard!"

"We're both equally as guilty of doing what we did that night, I cannot lie, but you get yourself trapped out in plague stricken lands and literally end my marriage!"

"This isn't about you!"

"No, this is about you trying to sabotage my marriage, you and my mother!"

"I did no such thing! I want you and Mary to be happy, I want you to be happy with James and as many more children as God wills, but I want to be happy and secure as well!"

"And you ruined that the moment you allowed John and James to meet! You had no right!"

"I was thinking of my son, if they got on, James could protect John like you protect Bash!"

"That was not your decision to make! It was Mary's and I's to make! You took that from us and now the boys resent each other because of it! You think James will protect him when he's Emperor? Do you? The meeting soured and even at the ages of three and four, they resent each other! God only knows what they're going to do to each other when they're older!"

"You wanted them to meet! That's why you claimed him!"

"I claimed him because my mother manipulated me into doing so! Because I wanted to give him a better life! Because I thought they could get along, but Mary was right, they cannot! I should have listened to her! You should have listened to her! Pretended to raise Remy's child in Scotland, to give John more station and security than I ever could, and things for nations would have been better! All I could give him is lands, but he will always be treated with scorn and neglect and there is nothing I could or can do about it! Maybe James will take them all away the moment I am dead! You could have given him such a better life! But, no, you so sentimental and down right idiotic ruined everything with your poor decision making!" he yelled.

"Stop, Francis! Please!"

"No! You ruined everything! Get out! Get out of this court, get out of this country! Get out!"

"Please, you must do something for her." Greer begged, her eyes drowned in the dark circles around them. "It's been almost three days. She's no better than when she collapsed. You must do something, Matthias." she finished, worriedly holding her friends' hand as said friends' husband paced around the room. Matthias took another vial and poured it into Mary's mouth. The Lady had been up with Mary the entire night, worrying insistently as news of Mary's condition had reached her. Whilst she'd responded to some medications, that small glimmer of hope had died out, and the fever had worsened again.

Francis -who had not slept in almost three days at that point- had to have something poured into his wine the night before. His brother had continuously told him that he should leave and rest, bathe and eat, see his son. But, his protests of Francis' whereabouts fell on def ears. So much so that when he suggested going to his chambers to sleep, Francis had nearly hit him. You won't do any good standing over them as they work, Bash had told him, speaking as if he was talking to a disobedient child. It had been a miracle that the sedation had actually worked. The King had spent a few hours draped over a settee near the fire the night before, Greer and Kenna taking turns sleeping and keeping watch, alerting the physicians at every given opportunity.

"I am not sure what do to, Lady Greer. I can find no signs of infection despite the fever, I have checked for everything. Even poison." he added.

"You think my wife is being poisoned?!" came the quick response of the King of France, who had became relentless over the past few hours. Agitation over the drama of the mother of his bastard child and worry for the mother of his legitimate heir had kept him on edge, especially because Lola still was in the castle and Mary was still unconscious.

"I do not. I can find no traces of it. Leeching has done us no favours, nor has blood letting. My Empress' fever still is high," he placed the back of his palm and fingers across Mary's forehead. "and she shows no signs of awaking anytime soon. All we can do is attempt to lower the never and maintain liquid in her system." Matthias finished, nodding to the Emperor Consort, dismissing himself with a swift 'ma'am' to Greer, walking out the door.

"Do you think she will wake?" Greer wondered.

"I pray she does." Francis admitted. "How's James?" he asked.

"Confused. He doesn't know why 'mama won't wake up' and why he can't come in and see her. Kenna and I have tried to explain that his mother is unwell, that we wish for her to get better and for him to see her, but he is blinded with worry for her. We all are," the Lady Castleroy took Mary's closest hand and looked down at her, face contorted with worry. "Poor boy is so perceptive." Greer finished.

"I expect he still blames me? For what happened to Mary?"

"He does not," Greer revealed. "It was said in the moment, he wouldn't know what it meant, anyway. He knows his mother is sickened by a means that is yet undercovered. But, he keeps repeating something odd."

"What?"

"I don't want to see the bad boy, I don't want to see the bad boy." Greer mimicked, her words sending a chill down Francis' spine.

"James." Francis said, coming into the small boy's large nursery. He sat with his usual contingent of guards, playing with some building blocks with one of his handmaidens. Usually, the royal nursery was occupied by not only himself, but Greer and Kenna's children, but they rushed around Scottish Court undisturbed by the fate of 'tante Mary' whilst said woman's son had to be close enough to be called at a moment's notice. After all, anything could happen.

The small boy looked up, eyes glowing particularly golden-green in the light. "Papa!" James chirped, bumbling up to his feet and rushing on steadying legs over to Francis, squealing softly.

Francis smiled a little. He picked up the little boy and placed him on his hip. He looked to the guards and the servents and the nursemaid. "Leave us." Francis said. They did so, closing the door behind themselves.

James sat comfortably on Francis'lap as his father sat down on a chair near the fire. For a June day, it was unusually dark and cold. Little hands wound themselves into Francis' hair, starting to play with the blonde ringlets as Francis reluctantly started this rather unhappy conversation.

"James, do you remember what you said a few days ago?" Francis asked. James adjusted himself, sitting with his legs crossed under him on Francis' lap. One hand of his father kept him steady, the other propping up his head.

"No." James said, innocent and honest.

"About the mean boy and his mother?" Francis asked.

James cocked his head to the side, dark curls sweeping to the side.

"Yes."

"What happened before that?" Francis asked.

"I was playing soldiers with George and the woman came into the nursery. She had a pink dress and curly hair. She plopped a boy next to me, told us to try and be friends. It would make everybody happy as we got bigger. But, the boy kept telling and throwing things. Meri and Rose were here as well. He almost hit Meri with one of the blocks, and I didn't like that, Papa. I yelled at him to stop, because Meri is only little and hurts easily, just like Rose. He wouldn't though, kept yelling things in a tounge I didn't understand, but I remember grandmeré saying words like it, and uncle Bash. He just kept yelling and throwing things, not even Vicky could get him to stop. He scared Rose, yelling near her after Vicky told him not to throw things at her, because he did, Papa! He threw a block at her. He was really mean, Papa. Honest, he was! And then the woman in pink came in, told us off for not being nice to each other, for not being like George and little Rose. Said that lots of people needed us to be friends. But then, as she left, she said something to Lady Aimee's friend, Robert, about talking to you. Then, Steven came in and told me mama was sick." James babbled on, barely stopping for breath, his words severely misspoken and slurred, by he got his message across.

All this time, Francis quietly listened to his son recant the meeting that never should have taken place. The hand supporting his son's back was gentle, but the hand fisted against his jaw was clenched tight, tighter and tighter like a vice. How could Lola have done that?! How could his own mother think that their presence would make him happy?! Happier than the family he shared with Mary?! Was she that desentitised of his feelings? Was that that idiotic that she thought that she knew best?

James' little voice brought him out of his thoughts.

"You aren't mad at me, are you, Papa? For not making friends with the mean boy?"

All anger that he held for his mother and Lola evaporated and he brought James closer to him, kissing the dawny black curls.

"Of course not, ma petite prince," he said quietly. "Of course not. I'm proud of you for protecting your cousin's and keeping them safe. It's the lady in pink that I have an issue with." Francis replied.

"Can we see mama, now, Papa? I want to see her." James asked, his sweet little voice melting the ice Francis felt in his heart.

"Of course, my little prince."

James lay on top of his mother, quietly humming the tune she sang to him when he could not get to sleep at night. Greer was asleep in one of the nearbye settees, Rose near her. Close, Kenna sat reading from a book, close enough to James to keep him safe but far away enough to give him some privacy.

Close, Francis sat at Mary's desk, where the minor political issues were sorted out. He too wrote of a political issue, but this was far more personal than a ruckus about grain and trade roots.

_Her Majesty, Catherine de Medici, Queen Mother and Regent of France,_

_Mother,_

_It has recently came to my attention that under your command and assured protection, the Lady Lola Flemming and my son, the Baron of Delay, were let out of the French Court and found their way to Edinburgh. This not only contradicted my direct order for you to ensure this would not happen -as you and I both know that this woman and this child have almost ruined my marriage and my soul purpose of coming to Edinburgh was to win my wife and son back- but this could be seen as directly working against me. Something that will be foolish for the regent to do, seeing as though the nobility of France are simply itching to have a male under the regency until my return._

_Because of this betrayal, I could send word to Lord Cumbas, seeing as though he has proven himself loyal and trustworthy, inform him of this act of betrayal and have you permanently removed from the regency. However, as our previous horrid ordeal proved to us, you constantly have your own reasoning for doing what you will. So, I will give you a chance to defend your actions to me directly. Imminently, I summon you to Edinburgh, France will be left in the capable hands of the aformentioned Lord._

_However, I do believe that it is my unfortunate responsibility to inform you of my wife's recent illness. Three days prior to myself writing this, she collapsed into my arms, ironically after seeing Lady Lola after so long. The Empress has not awoken since, she is with a high fever and physicians are unaware on how to help her. Therefore, I ask that you bring Nostradamus with you on your imminent voyage to Scotland. As you know, I have no use for the man as a prophet, but as a physician, his skills cannot be denied. I must do everything I can to assist my wife's recovery. I cannot let her Empire be ruled without her, nor can I live with myself if my beloved son grows up without his equally as beloved mother because I did not do everything in my power to ensure her recovery. You may have disobeyed one order, but I command you to follow this one; do not inform anybody of the Empress's illness. It is in the relams' best interest to be unaware._

_Kindest regards,_

_King Francis of France, Emperor Consort of Great Britain and it's isles._

"Mama," the little Crown Prince babbled as he sat on Mary's abdomen. He looked intently down at her. Whilst the boy looked like Mary, his expressions were all Francis. James leaned down and pressed their noses, as if testing if she was pretending to be asleep. Coming up short from his little test, James brushed an errant curl from his forehead, tapping Mary's cheek. "Mama, wake up now." James finished, sitting straight on her hips.

The young Crown Prince had been placed in Mary's chambers the night before, sleeping upon her bed the entire night, their hands tightly locked together. James seemed comforted by the sound of his mother's heartbeat, and those in the room loathed to move him and disturb the peaceful slumber that the tiny boy had finally got. And, nobody could deny that Mary had taken a turn for the better ever since her only child had been brought to her.

The young crown Prince of France and Great Britain had started clinging to his father whenever he wasn't around, especially when his mother was as out of commission as she was. And, as attached to Mary as he was, it was such a hard job getting the boy to settle when he wasn't around her. Even if she was unconscious, he still had to be around her.

The little boy had been carried into the room by the young French King, and his presence seemed to have done wonders. Not just for the morale for everybody in the room, but for his own mother. Gone were the slight expressions of pain and unhappiness, replaced with a more serene look of contentment. Although still unresponsive, the fever had gone down a tad and she was responding to the medications more than the night before. It seemed almost surreal that this tiny little Prince could work more wonders than the most experienced physicians.

"Come on, Mama. Time to wake up." James tried again, running his little hands through her hair, before they settled on her jaw. Little fingers prodded at her cheeks and nose, before settling again, this time on her chest. He waited intently, as if waiting for a response, before huffing impatiently, patting her nose twice.

The young boy was donned in white and blue silk, looking more like Francis than ever as he observed his sickly mothers' frame. Like him, she was donned in soft colours, however she seemed to have improved a little. A tiny sheen of sweat regularly appeared on her skin, not noticeable unless looking for it, and her fever had gone down a little. She wasn't in as much discomfort as she appeared to usually be in, and her breaths were deeper than the others. As if a constriction in her lungs had finally left her.

James stopped his shakes of Mary's limp body and popped up, glancing all around the large chamber, looking for somebody.

"What is it, love?" Kenna asked, rocking Meredith on her lap. The tiny girl in raven silk and golden lace lazily looked over the room, owlishly blinking her green eyes.

"Papa, where's Papa?" James asked.

"He's getting the mean boy's mother to finally go away, little one." Sebastian said, leaning against a chest of draws, observing the scene much like his nephew observed the limp body of his mother.

"Really?" James seemed hopeful.

"Really." Bash clarified. "It's better for everybody."

"Are you still here?" Francis asked. Jumping, Lola turned around from her trunk to the languid form of Francis. This time, he was flanked by a servent and one of Mary's Scottish working girls, a green eyed red head donned in mint chiffon.

The Lady looked worse than ever. Pale skin, a flush of pink upon her cheeks and her nose, another ill fitting gown. This one, a bright pink figure hugging gown that clearly wasn't worn since before she got pregnant, for it fell horribly on the motherly figure she bore, hugging the wrong places. Her tight curls were messy, she looked exhausted. Eyes were sunken in -as small as ever- and cheeks puffy.

From one of the corners of the modest chambers, the young Baron sat huddled in a tight ball, screaming in childish anger. There was nothing around him, but plenty a good perimeter away, telling Francis that the boy had had yet another fit of anger and had thrown all of his toys and trinkets away from himself in rebellion.

"Yes, please understand. I have nowhere else to go. I cannot beg on the streets, with you being who you are and your son being who he is." Lola glanced out at the window. "The weather is turning, a storm is approaching. Please, do not make us leave."

"This is Mary's court. I have no authority here, in her stead, her brother rules upon this land until she wakes up." Francis informed. "He will give me no authority, he is angered by our actions towards his sister. And, who can blame him?"

Lola nodded slowly.

"However, he is well aware of your situation, and the boys'. For, he himself is bastard born. Beg for the Earls' mercy. I am not sure if you will get anywhere, but it is your only chance of having a glimmer of safety and security in this country."

"I have sent constant letters to my parents, asking for an audience, for a chance to explain." Lola began.

"They have not replied?"

"No, my Lord."

"The moment they do, you will leave."

"Yes, Francis."

"Why is he screaming?" Francis asked.

"He is so angry in this place. He can sense the Scots' distain for him, he cannot be in a room with his brother-"

"Half brother." Francis reminded. "Bringing him here has ruined any chance of including him with James and any other of my children Mary should bare. I hope you know that."

Lola said nothing. She looked down.

"Why did you really come here? It was not for your parents, you didn't give a damn about them in Italy."

"I-I-" Lola stumbled. "I came here because I wanted a chance." Francis frowned. "To make it right, with you, with Mary, with the Prince. With Kenna and Greer, Bash and Leith. They all cannot stand me for the things I have done, and I wish for nothing more than to make it right. To be how we were in France, before Collen or the Prophecy." Lola paused. "To give our son a chance," she looked over to the screaming child, his own cheeks puffy and red, eyes wide. "to be accepted by James. I am a woman, I know what it means to be one in this world. Now, more than ever. I must think of the future. His future." Lola looked back. "Should the children get along, possibly, John's future could have been assured."

"But, they did not."

"No, John could feel the mistrust from those guards and servants, and he was angry that the atmosphere occurred after he was in the room. Those servants and nannies adore Prince James and his own cousin's. But, not him. Even now, he resents them for their legitimacy and for their titles, whilst he has his own, he is in for a life of scorn and neglect."

"Their is nothing you or I can do to stop it."

"No, there is not." she paused. "Why couldn't you have let us go?!" Lola suddenly cried. Francis blinked, coming closer into the room. As witnesses -per the Earl of Moray's orders- the servent and the working girl came in as well. "That day, that day when we met Stéphane Narcisse, and your cousin, Louis of Conde, why couldn't you have let us go?!" she cried. "I could have raised him in Scotland, everybody under the rouse that he was Remy's child! Under the rouse that Julian was actually Remy! Things would have been so much better for all of us! I could have had status and respect, so could he! Greer and Lola wouldn't hate me, Mary would have been happy and you could have been around for James! Why couldn't you have thought like your father for that moment?!" she cried.

"I understood all the reasons, I did! You know that! I just couldn't. I held him and I couldn't let him go, I didn't want to and I had every right to keep him! You staying with him, in France and Scotland, was a consequence of your own actions! If you hadn't gotten us that wine, none of this would have happened!"

"And if you hadn't started pushing me to sleep with you, this also wouldn't have happened! You started kissing me first! You came onto me first!"

"And if you had told me you were pregnant, we could have worked something out! Marry you off to a French Lord, giving me time to see my son, anything but this!"

"You took it upon yourself to make John and James meet, knowing Mary was against it, knowing the meeting wouldn't end up going well! How could you do that?! Are you that idiotic, that delusional that you think what you want to happen will end up happening? Are you serious?" Francis snapped.

They silenced for a moment.

"There isn't use talking about what could have been's and what almost was." Francis said, his voice slow. "We must do what is right by France and the Empire, Mary and James, as well as John." he said.

Lola nodded slowly. "John is my main concern. I'd rather not give Mary, nor James, reason to take our heads." she finished.

"Very well. Talk to the Earl, ask for an extended stay. I won't send you away when there's nowhere else to go. Not for you, but for John. And, as soon as Mary is awake and coherent, we will all talk about what we should do." Francis replied.

"Yes. But, what if she doesn't wake? You know fevers are serious." Lola replied, looking up at Francis.

"She will. There's no point thinking otherwise unless the worst happens." Francis answered, before starting to walk over to John. He picked up the screaming boy, holding him to his chest as he rose them both to standing height.

"What's wrong, child?" Francis asked.

"Mama being mean, papa! She yelled at me for not being nice!"

"And why weren't you nice?" Lola asked.

"Because people are mean to me! People look at me different to what they do that other boy, even Meredith or Bash! It's not fair!" the boy wailed, struggling in his fathers' arms.

"No it isn't, but you have to be better than those people." Francis replied.

"Don't want to! They shouldn't be mean!"

"It's what they were told to do, by their own parents. Your father and I will raise you to be better than them." Lola said, coming close. Noticing the look that Marianne was shooting him, Francis sent his bastard child into the arms of his mother. Said child instantly started yelling out again, his little arms extending out towards Francis once more. Slowly, as if the act was causing him pain, Francis took the boy back into his arms, noticing that the boy started to settle the moment he was returned to his arms.

"I miss you, papa! You used to always be with me, now you're not! Now you're always with him!" John sobbed, clinging to his fathers' neck, fisting his small fingers into the silk and velvet doublet the King of France wore. He said 'him' with a great amount of venom, as much as his four year old mind could muster, clearly referring to James.

"Who have you seen your father with?" Lola asked, coming in close again. Feeling the glare at his shoulder, Francis took a few steps away, trying his very best to act casually and naturally.

"That other boy! The one people are nice to, the one everybody is nice to!" John cried. "Be with me, papa! I miss you!"

"Shh, it's okay, my love." Lola soothed, running a hand through John's straight golden hair. "It's alright. Your fathers' here. And he's never leaving you again."

A knock at the door.

"Excuse me, sire?" Steven popped his head in through the door. "But the Empress has awoken. She's asking for you."


	17. Chapter 17

"Your highness," Steven said. "The Emperor is here, should he be let in, aunt?"

The Empress of the United Kingdom of Great Britain sat propped up against a mountain of silk and fine pillows. She wore nothing but an ivory nightgown with lace outline and a satin robe. Long hair had been brushed out, falling in slightly greasy waves down to her hips. There were dark circles around her eyes and her face was thinner than usual, a thinner body to match. A thin sheen of sweat across her warm body. She looked exhausted -despite having slept for days- and her lips were chapped, but she was alive.

James sat curled on Mary's lap, a thumb in her mouth, one hand of his mother in his own dark curls. He was asleep, one hand tightly woven into the fibres of her shift, small mews falling from his sleeping lips. Beside them was a table with a pitcher of water and a half empty goblet resting along side, as well as a few slices of bread, fruit, meat and cheese. Being late at night, the fire roared and the candles burned, but all the doors to the balcony were open, refreshing cool air flooding the room despite the fires burning. Long curtains of chiffon danced in the soft wind that was colder than usual, seeing as a storm was approaching.

Near them, Kenna and Greer stood smiling gently. Kenna was donned in dark blue chiffon, Greer in golden coloured cotton, both looking equally exhausted as their ruling counterpart, but both equally as relieved as each other to see said counterpart alive and talking. Mary had woken up mere minutes before, neither being able to deny the relief and exuberance to see those golden eyes flicker open to match their little doppelganger.

Near, James Stewart sat in an overstuffed arm chair. The young Scot couldn't deny his own relief at seeing his Empress and sister awake and talking, even if she was sickened by means they were well on their way to figuring out. Upon said sisters insistence, he was told to rest and not concern himself with any unnecessary means.

"Yes, I suppose so." Mary said, her voice quieter than usual, a little more horse than what was expected, but a voice none the less.

The door opened. There Francis stood.

Neither of them said anything for a few seconds.

"Mary," Greer said. The Empress turned to her. "Would you like us to stay?"

"No, thank you. Go to your chambers and rest, I'm sure I've caused lack of rest. Take him to his bed." she replied, gesturing to her slumbering son. Said son's namesake stood from his chair and took his nephew from his sisters' lap, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he rose, twisting the slumbering, limp toddler into his arms. He lay limply in his uncle's arms, large eyes closed, his cheeks looking irregularly chubby in the dim light, his lips plumping more than usual. Mary smiled at him softly as he was taken away from her.

She bid her ladies goodnight. The door closed.

"Mary, I-" Francis stopped talking, his legs moving upon their own accord. He ended up by her bed. "I was so worried." he breathed. "I thought you left me, I couldn't handle it." he added. "I'm so glad you're okay." he leaned in, as if attempting to press his lips to her cheek in a kiss. But, she turned away, her eyes closing. "What's wrong?"

"Lydia spoke to me." she said slowly. "She told me things."

"What things?" Francis frowned. Why was she speaking so stoically?

"Not even an hour after I collapsed, you were seen taking Lola into your chambers." she said, slowly turning to him. "Over and over and over, you've been seen talking to her. Allowing her an extended stay in my court." she said. Now, her voice sounded repulsed, even. "As I lay nearly dying, you were seen going into Lola's chambers, not coming out for hours. And just a few minutes ago, she sent word to Steven. You were seen holding your son in a suspiciously close embrace." she added. "What possible excuse could you have?"

"I was actually starting to want to mend things between us!" she said. Francis recoils, a frown forming. "Not just for James, but for us!"

"Mary, I-"

"Imagine, I actually thought we had a chance, that both you and I were ready, willing and prepared to do whatever it took to fix it! But, I was wrong. Do you know how it feels to constantly be betrayed and let down because of your actions?"

"Mary, please, listen." he tried, but Mary talked over him once more.

"I lay dying, and you were with her! You were with the woman you swore meant nothing to you! Imagine that, just when I thought you meant what you said to me, you waited no time to go back to her! I actually thought we had a chance, that you were actually going to give me more than pretty words and empty promises!"

"Mary, please, let me explain!"

"Do not! Do not pretend that I'm wrong! I know about you two! I know everything! Constantly, you were seen together in private chambers! I assumed that since I collapsed, you would want to stay with me! Stay with your wife that you swore never to abandon again, but no. You ran straight back to Lola's arms and took her to your chambers! You were with her when I woke up! Really, Francis? You couldn't just-" Mary's voice began to falter. "You couldn't stay with me, just this once? When I lay dying, you couldn't stay with me? Yours couldn't be the first face I saw when I woke up? I asked for you immediately after I came too, but James couldn't lie to me. He told me that you were seen close with your rumoured mistress." she took a breath. He opened his mouth to talk, but she offered him no such luxury. "You keep saying that you want me back, that you want us to be a family with James, but you keep leaving us for her. For them!" she cried. "I can't handle it any more, okay? I needed you, and you weren't there! You're always too late! Too late in the plague, too late in France, too late right now. I needed you and you were with her!" she cried.

"Mary, no. It wasn't like that." Francis begged. "I just talked to her, demanded she leave this castle, go back to France. But she wouldn't, she refused to leave, to pack her things and go wherever the hell she wanted to. That's the only reason I talked to her. But then she did something that-"

"what?" Mary snapped. "What could she possibly have done that would necessitate you leaving me to run to her side? Doesn't that sound familiar?"

He ignored the comment. "She forced my sons to meet."

Mary said nothing.

"I didn't know she did it until James told all of us, I swear, Mary."

"Why would she do that? This could ruin everything!"

"She says she wanted to establish a bond between them, but-"

"It didn't go well?" Mary asked. Francis shook up, before lurching forwards as his wife appeared to be trying to manage herself out of bed. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

"I have to end this, once and for all. I'm sick of the drama and the fighting. I have to end it." she demanded.

"Whilst I cannot disagree, I cannot let you in this state. You're weak and sickened, you're not moving until your fever breaks and your recover. We still don't know what's wrong with you, love." he nuzzled a kiss to her hair as he settled her back onto the pillows. Surprisingly, she didn't deny him.

"What else did Lola say?" Mary asked. "Everything."

"She yelled at me for claiming John, saying I should have let him go to the Netherlands and forgotten about him."

"But?"

"She wants me to parent him. I am sure she envies you in a way," Mary furrowed her eyebrows. "not because of the physical factors, nor the power, although I am sure that these have a factor in it. But because I spend so much time with James, being a father to him. She's noticed John fussing more, because I'm not there."

As much as hearing him talk about his other son he had with the woman who was mean to be her best friend, it didn't resolve the amount of jealousy or mistrust that Mary thought it would. She supposed is she didn't have James, it would have, but she did. And the aforementioned child was innocent in all of this. He was more than likely confused to why his father suddenly wasn't around, much like James was when he saw Aloysius with Greer and Rose and George and Bash with Kenna and Meredith. However, that didn't mean that she was suddenly okay with the fact that he had a bastard child with another woman, one who had betrayed her and was once her friend.

"What are you going to do?" Mary asked, her voice quieter. Absentmindedly, her hand found his. Francis smiled a little, but couldn't force down the worry about the fact that her palm burned in his.

"I don't know. I do want to parent him, like a father should. But I am no ordinary father, I am a King, an Emperor. I must do what is right, not what is easy or what I want." he sighed. "Perhaps Lola could be married off to somebody, someone we know and trust. Somebody that can take care of her and John. And I could visit when I am able."

"Like who? Who do we know that is an eligible bachelor?" Mary asked.

"Leith?"

"Enthralled with your sister, Claude." Mary shook her head.

"James?"

"Hates her." she blurted. "Also talking of marrying a Hapsburg daughter." Mary shot down.

"Louis? My cousin?"

"You know him better than I, but I wouldn't bank on it. The man is a Prince, an important man. I doubt he'd be willing to lower himself to marry her when he could marry a Princess or a Queen."

"Darnley?" he asked, although the word came out as a sort of sneer.

"Married with a daughter." she shook her head.

"Well then, we must think of something."

"Must all of our conversations be of her?" Mary asked. He looked sharply down at her.

"What do you mean?"

"Everything we talk of is her. Before I collapsed, arguing after you got back to France. It's always her."

"We must help her."

"You must help her. You got her into this situation, you get her out." Mary decided, sitting up and gaining some suddenly much needed distance.

"I know, I know." he tried to soothe. "But, she is not my mistress. She is not French. She is your subject, you have the final say in who your nobility marries."

"Again, I don't want to speak of her." Mary shook her head. "But, I suppose we must." she sighed. "All those years ago, why her? Of all the people you slept with, did it have to be her? Of all the available whores and harlots, why her?"

"I don't know! She was there and willing, didn't mock me for my pain, just listened."

"And then lied to you of your mothers' execution. Henry was satisfied with annulment. She took it one step further because of what happened to Collen!" she snapped. "And has admitted lying to you because she wanted to be seen as an non judgemental ear to talk to! That girl said whatever you wanted to hear, and you may not want to admit it, but you know that!" Mary added. "She may not be a manipulative seductress but she is damn sure not the innocent little angel you suddenly want to make her out to be!" Mary snapped, tears suddenly burning her eyes.

"I don't think of her like that! I know she's done awful things, but those are my reasons." he huffed.

"She may not have even wanted to be seen as just an ear to talk to, a shoulder to cry to. She might have wanted more than that! Manipulated you into marrying her or taking her as a mistress!"

"But she does not! She did not!"

"How do you know? She played you like a fiddle, just like Olivia!" Mary snapped. That last blow stunned her. She hadn't brought up Olivia since the little incident with the infamous 'darkness' in France just after their marriage.

"What could you possibly mean by that?" Francis asked, after a lengthy pause.

"Don't be a fool! You think she came there out of her own will? Her carriage was attacked by pagans, yes. But your mother blackmailed her into trying to ruin our engagement so the stupid prophecy wouldn't come true! She never wanted to get into your bed, she did it out of fear of Catherine de Medici! The foolish girl learned, but Catherine brought her right back to being the foolish little puppet she always was!"

"How do you know this?"

"Catherine told me." Mary said, her voice calm.

"You cannot blame all of that on me! You ended our engagement when it wasn't convenient for you to have me!"

"I did it to save my country! Your father wasn't prepared to give troops, Tomas' was! And you told me to marry him, that day in the courtyard! I was acting like a Queen, you were acting like a little boy who didn't want to share his toy with anybody else!"

"You almost took everything from me!"

"Yes, I acted out of blind love and fear! And there were many times over my pregnancy and early maternity that I questioned myself if I made the wrong choice!"

He paused.

"Thinking out of hatred and jealousy that you put me and France under Lola and John. You were supposed to be a better King than Bash, but you've turned out to be worse!"

"How could you say that to me?!"

"Because it's true!" she attempted to get out of bed, before the room suddenly spun. Francis lunged to catch her, placing her safely on the blankets. Their argument didn't continue. It was ironic, really. Such gentle touches, but such harsh words that so needed to be said. They could love each other but still be angry with each other, both realised. "You ran away the moment you became King, you ran for two years and three months! You left me, pregnant, to rule your dying country! You abandoned your unborn son and I to a nightmare! Whilst you ran like a knight in shining armour to save that foolish girl and that innocent child who will know such pain because of your sentimentality!" Mary cried. "I nearly lost him because of you!" she sobbed, before freezing.

Francis, who had had his back turned to her after helping her onto the bed, stilled as well. He turned, slowly.

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

Mary sighed. She'd always known she'd have to tell him. But never imagined it to be like this.

"Before I started showing, at around eight or nine weeks along, I started to bleed. It turns out an expectant mother cannot rule a plague stricken land and carry an unborn child. I thought I did loose him, we all did! Until I started to show and continued to show symptoms of pregnancy. Those two weeks were hell! Francis, they were pure hell! Plague, famine, a cowardice husband and a treasonous Lady, an unfortunate bastard, Catherine's scheming, Bash's blind devotion, Kenna's childish nature, Greer's troubles, two countries relying on me. England had it's sword at my neck, I couldn't handle it! And you weren't there!" Mary sobbed.

He took a step towards her involuntarily, as if trying to comfort, but she placed out a hand, stilling him, forcing him to stay where he stood.

"James was the only thing that got me through that time, I had damn near gone mad with grief and anger and anguish and pain that I nearly lost my mind. And when you were declared dead, Bash had taken it so hard! Harder than Catherine, or I, I have no idea why he serves you so valiantly as he does when you've caused him, if possible, more pain than I! You took his family from him for over half a year!"

"And you nearly took everything from me!"

"I did not! Our engagement was never truly over, you were never tripped of the title of Dauphin, your mother and fathers' marriage was never annulled. We may not have been physically together at the time, but we damn sure were still going to get married. We still loved each other, or I still loved you, you were still Dauphin, no matter what you thought at the time! When you and Lola slept together, we were still engaged, going to be married the next day and you were still going to be King! Dress it up however you want, but that is the truth!" Mary cried. "Which is what hurt worse! We were still getting married and you slept with Lola, got her pregnant and then tried to lie to my face about it! You did lie to me for all those months, until you finally came clean about four months after the fact!"

"You lied to me for Lola's entire pregnancy!"

"She made me! And you not knowing protected you from Court and the world seeing you as weak and sentimental for doting over a bastard!"

"I would have helped you find her a husband! Secretly saw him every little while!"

"You think that now, but would you have?" Mary asked, wiping her tears. "I don't think you would have. You would have claimed it the moment you knew about it and we both know it. Lola would have became yours, and because you claimed him, she is! And no marriage can undo that! That child calls you father, that girl relies on you for everything! Because you got bored and were sad that our married was postponed because I loved you so much that I was ready to sacrifice everything for you! I did what I did because I was scared, because I love you so much that I was willing to sacrifice everything to keep you safe! And what did you do? Nearly cost me my head and crown, abandoned me and your unborn child! How could you?!"

"It was not like that! I didn't do it to hurt you, it just happened!"

"Things like that don't just happen! Although she may not admit it, that girl knew exactly what she was doing! Laying with a man whilst ovulating, she didn't think would cause a pregnancy? A royal illegitimate one at that? And if she did not, she was too damned foolish, naive and childlike to lay with you anyway! But you pushed for it, she played hard to get under the delusions of loyalty, but her true feelings and actions came out when you slept together!" Mary almost screamed. "And that is treason! I could justifiably take her head for that, and trust me, it is tempting. The more and more people who know about it will no doubt reach my privy council and if they demand her head, I am without choice but to give it!"

"You wouldn't do that!"

"Wouldn't I? What would you know about that? You've never seen me rule, you don't know about the horrible things I've had to do as a ruler, for both my countries and yours!"

"What have you done?"

"Killed innocents, killed those who's only crime was to be loyal to my cousin before taking the English throne, killed those unfortunate enough to know the true nature of your succession!" Mary listed off.

"And I-no. Wait. What did you say?" Francis asked.

"Did you think nobody knew, Francis? That you killed Henry?"

Francis' face was priceless, and she would have laughed at it should she not have been so angry at him.

"Of course I knew! I knew immediately after the infamous Stéphane Narcisse started attempting to blackmail the Crown! I had to kill everybody who knew, trust me, it was not easy! In fact or on my conscience! I stripped him of everything before making him my puppet!"

"And you never told me?"

"How could it come up? Oh Francis, by the way, before we go to the gardens with James, I'd like you to know I know you committed regicide and killed your father, let's go." Mary mocked. "I don't think so!"

"You almost brought France to it's knees!"

"When your mother and father had grounds to execute me and take my country! I had to save it! And, by the way, it didn't happen! Would you not have done the same to protect France should Marie de Guise have grounds to execute you because of a contract she tricked you into signing?" Mary asked.

"Where is she?"

"My mother? Long dead." Mary waved a hand, moving on. "We're getting off topic."

"What is the topic?" Francis asked, his voice miserable. Mary silently shook her head. He came closer, sitting at the edge of her bed, taking her hands. "I know we have done terrible things to each other, horrid things. But, what's the use of bringing them up now? Apart from making each other angry to find common ground. Have you any anger left for me? I know your opinion on John and me claiming and wishing to raise him, and you know my opinion on you doing what you did with the prophecy. I've no anger left for you." he added.

"No." her voice was quiet.

"Can we start again? Put the past to rest, leave it where it should be, in the past. Forgive each other for the horrid things that we've done and move forward. We do greater things when we act as one, when we trust each other, as equals. Can you do that? Can you forgive me as I can forgive you?" he asked.

"I don't know. I can try, at the very least."

"As can I." he half smiled.

Before they knew it, a triplet of weeks had passed. Whilst the Empress was still unwell, she was attended to hand, foot and finger by servants, physicians and her relentless ladies who clucked over her like mother hens. James had barely left his mothers side, but the mother-son duo had compromised with him spending most of the time he wasn't spending outside -mother and child mutually loved the outdoors- in her chambers with her. He was kept company with his cousin and the two who he considered his cousins whenever he and his mother weren't cuddling up, or when he was doing his little lessons with his governess.

Having been granted more authority by Mary -thanks to a stern talking to from her to her half brothers- Francis strode back to her chambers with an aura of confidence about him, even though the dull privy council meeting about an issue with getting fresh grain to the highlands had dulled his excitement about combined ruling with his beautiful bride.

He walked the now firmilar halls of Edinburgh Castle with his happy aura of confidence about him, before finding the doors to Mary's chambers. Steven -who had taken to him in the last few days- smiled at him, before opening the door.

"Presenting the Emperor." he announced.

Francis nodded at his bastard nephew in law gratefully and walked into the chambers. He saw his wife being tended to by Greer, who upon seeing him, nodded low. He gave her a look. He disliked his friends treating him like a King, sometimes he just wanted to be Francis, not the King or Emperor of anything.

Greer seemed to read his mind, coming up from her slight bow and smiling at him, before going back to work. She pressed a damp cloth against Mary's forehead and Francis frowned, seeing the slight paleness of her skin, the slight dampness on the chalky white complexion.

"What happened?" he frowned. "She seemed okay last night."

"I am here." Mary complained, but her voice was nasally and somewhat congested.

"Did she drink the tea Nostradamus and Matthias made?" he asked. The seer and his mother had arrived two days prior and although he had yet to see the Medici blooded Queen Mother of France, the prophet had gotten straight to work on Mary's health.

"She did." the blonde Lady Castleroy said. "But," Greer nodded to the fire. "It wasn't burning when she fell asleep. The cold must have gotten in." she said. "It's only a cold, he assures me of that. It won't last long."

Francis nodded. "Good." he came closer and sat down at her side. Greer excused herself, saying that she was going to get more warm towels for Mary. But, as she opened the door, they came face to face with the French Physician himself.

"Nostradamus." Greer said, clearly surprised.

"I have the culprit of the Empress' illness." his voice was a gruff as ever, looking over at the married couple as their eyes flickered over to him immediately following his words.

"What is it? What's wrong with me?" Mary asked.

"My Queen, you are with child."


	18. Chapter 18

"I am what?" Mary said, her skin suddenly fading into an ashen pale, even more than before.

"You're with child, Imperial Majesty. The King says you spent the night together around thirteen weeks ago, and the end result is this. You're with child, Majesty." Nostradamus repeated, "It is undetectable whilst you were unconscious, but now that you are awake, it is almost obvious. You're pregnant, your Majesty." Nostradamus added.

Silently, Mary looked towards Francis. Neither said anything to each other, but their silent conversation between each other was so loud.

"Are you sure, Nostradamus?" Greer asked. "It is easy to misidentify pregnancy." the blonde finished.

"I am, m'lady." he said. "You have been tired more often, from my inspection the night the Queen Mother and I came to Scotland, I found viable veins in your skin, the dizziness and fatigue." Nostradamus listed. "Without question, there is a small swelling in your stomach, and I am sure that it will continue to grow within time. Judging from the time frame the King and your handmaidens have given me, I am sure that your child will arrive sometime in the middle of December."

Francis stared at Nostradamus throughout his little speech, before turning back to his wife, a small smile appearing on his face. He took a hold of her hand, gently running his thumb over the back of her palm and the line of her knuckles.

"Don't tell my mother," Francis instructed. "Although I'm sure that she'll find a way to get acknowledged. Before she does, she and I need to have a conversation." Francis ordered.

"Mother." Francis said. A copper haired Queen in red and gold spun around, instantly beaming at the sight of her golden child.

"Francis!" she smiled widely. Donned in regal gold and red, her thick skirted gown with a long sleeved vest bloomed as she moved around fast. Heels clicked against the stone flooring as she proceeded to rush over and maul him, taking his head in her hands and pressing kisses over his cheeks and nose. She grabbed his hands and did the same. It was much like when he returned to Court after the liaison with Lola.

"Mother, stop, stop, stop." Francis repetitively said. He pushed her away, but she obliviously smiled at him.

"Francis." she beamed at her favourite child. He attempted to smile, but her scheming nature had dulled the part of him happy to see his mother once again.

"Mother, we must talk." he said, taking her hands from his cheeks and bringing them from his face, bounding them at the wrists. Still, she beamed at him.

"About what, love? Can we not be happy that you have gotten what you so pined for back?" she asked.

"And what is that?" Francis frowned in genuine confusion.

"Your family, of course! They're finally returned to you!" Catherine beamed. Francis blinked.

"Which one? Mary and James, or Lola and John?" he asked. "You certainly think of one higher than the other."

"You know which one I mean, Francis." she huffed.

"No, I really don't. I had a family, mother. A genuine, true family that was willing to accept and move past my mistakes, but you threw a cink in the works by sending Lola from France to Scotland!"

"I did it to make you happy, to make you a better ruler! Your father and I taught you that you cannot rule with your heart, that you cannot wed the woman you love. It clouds judgement, you must put France first, before everything else!"

"I do think of France, but I also think of what makes me happy! And, I know what that is! It's my wife and my son, my heir! I will not abandon them, again, because you think you know what is best for me!"

"I do know what is best, Francis." Catherine spoke as if she was speaking to the five year old boy who had nervously awaited a dark haired siren on the grounds of the royal court, not as if she was speaking to a fully grown, fully competent ruling King. "You know I do." she spoke in the same tone.

"You do not!" he snapped. He shoved her hands away and paced a few times. "Mary and James make me happy, why do you think I've spent thirteen weeks trying to win back their love and trust? Why do you think I returned to France in the first place? For them. For my people and for them!"

"You cannot think with your heart, it's time to grow up! It's time to think like a King! You've had enough years thinking with your heart and not your head, but now is the time to change! Yes, Mary and James will suffer, as will any other son she bares, but that is what has to happen! If you need solace, find it elsewhere! Let your marriage become normal!"

"Elsewhere? You mean with Lola and John?" Francis angrily chuckled. "They are not my family! It may sound harsh, but it is true, all they are is a foolish girl who made wrong choices and the result of a rendezvous gone wrong! That's all they will ever be! I love my son, but I cannot let his happiness effect the course of nations! An empire! You want me to think like a King, here you are!"

"You cannot speak to me like that! I am your mother!"

"And I am your King!" Francis snapped. "I was so, so close to getting what I wanted with Mary and James. Although she was still angry, Mary started to forgive me, mother! James accepted me into his life and his heart as his father, but you sent Lola and John from Court -against my direct orders- to try and stop the proceedings!" Francis yelled.

"I did it for you! To show you what family a King actually can have! You cannot be happy with Mary!"

"Why not? I love her, she and James are the light of my life!"

"Because you are a King, you do not have the luxury of obeying your heart!"

"Is that what you think? You think because you saw grand-père with one arm for his wife and another for his mistress, you think because you hung on one of fathers' arms whilst Diane or whoever kept his interest for more than a night clung to the other, that is how a King is supposed to act?"

"It is! I know it!"

"You are wrong! Has it ever occurred to you that it's time we changed things? So I can be a true husband and a true father? Be loyal and faithful to the woman I love?"

"True?" Catherine mocked. "You have a bastard child, with Mary's best friend!"

"One you manipulated me into claiming -against my better judgement and Mary's superior judgement- to hurt her! To hurt and drive them both away so far to Scotland! Has it ever occurred to you that they are what I want, not the repercussions of a rendezvous gone wrong?" he asked, his voice loud. "Do you still hate Mary that much? Because she is younger, more powerful, beautiful and richer than you? Do you still hate her for replacing you as the most important woman in my life? Can you not stand her because she took your crown and ruled over you in my absence? Because she took a tenth as long of a time to birth a son? Because she is more politically important? Because she has something you will never have, a blood written crown? Royal blood?" he snapped. "Do you still hate her after acting as a mother to her for so long? Why do you wish for her to suffer when there is no necessity to?"

"Of course not, Francis! You must understand that you cannot have what you want?"

"Can't I? Then why did Mary tell me after so long that she loved me last night? Why did James say that he loves me just twenty minutes ago? Is it so wrong to be true to them, breaking the mould that has been solidified since you were sold to the Valois-Angoulême? Being different does not mean being wrong, mother!"

"Why couldn't you have ruled your country like your father ruled his? Why couldn't you have stayed in France, instead of running away -yet again- to Scotland? Why couldn't you have let Mary and James be content in their empire, whilst you rule your Kingdom?"

"Because I want them! I don't want Lola, nor John! It may sound harsh as I love my son, but I will not let a Dynasty crumble because of his existence. You wish me to think like a king only when it suits you! When it benefits you!"

"Because I am a Queen! I do what is best for my country!"

"My country." Francis reminded. "You are neither Queen of France, nor Regent of France. And you will not manipulate me into doing what you say any longer!"

"Francis, no-"

"I was so wrong to consult you in claiming John and not my own wife, my Queen, my Empress. But, I stop those mistakes right now."

"Francis, you can't do this to me-"

"I strip you of the Regency, permanently, for your actions against Mary and James. Should I die before James is of age, Mary and my faithful Lord will rule France in his stead." You may go back to France, with no authority than your blood connection to myself and my heir. My true son." he finished. "After so many years, I can finally see so clearly." he chuckled, without humour.

"No, Francis, please stop-"

"I will not. You may stay at Court and in time, possibly regain my loyalty and trust. But, until then, I wish not to see you."

"Kenna, may we speak?" Lola asked, coming into Kenna's chambers that night. The Lady in question looked better than before. A black gown with long sleeves and a high neck, blue flowers embroidered onto the imitation satin. Her hair was brushed out, makeup less smeared than usual, but she still looked horridly rough, all things considered. And, in comparison to the predestine, sometimes vain Baroness de Portiers, the Lady looked downright awful.

"What is it?" the beautiful Baroness asked.

"I've seen you come from Mary's room. Is she alright?" Lola asked. Kenna gave her a look, straightening her polka dot embroidered white trained gown, the struggles of vanity poking through her.

"She's-" Kenna stopped. After the astounding announcement to Mary's half brothers and half sister, herself and her husband, the Lady was slightly stunned by the news. However, under strict instructions to keep the child a secret until it quickened -they had had a little scare with James and loathed to repeat it with this child- the Lady Kenna was duty bound to obey. "She's getting better, day by day. They think it nothing but influenza. She will be alright by the fortnight." Kenna assured.

"I am glad." Lola fiddled with her navy lace cuffs. "May we talk?"

"About what? You'll be leaving soon. James granted you an extended stay in court, yes, but seeing as though Mary will be up and ruling sooner rather than later, I expect your presence and batchelorette days soon to be over."

"Batchelorette?"

"Didn't she tell you? Mary wishes to marry you off, keep you and your son a little secret. In time, the boys won't know nor resent each other, and the scorn your child will face will be minimal at best." she shrugged a shoulder. "I cannot say I agree with this notion, as the privy council wishes more than anything for your crimes to be atoned. But, Mary thinks a dowry is of more value than your blood."

"She's saving me?"

"God knows why." Kenna blurted.

"Her kindness and protection are worse punishments than execution."

"You miss your friend?" Kenna asked, twirling a sapphire on a golden band that lay upon her finger.

"I do." Lola admitted, her head lowering.

"Then maybe, you should act like it. And always should have." a voice said from behind them. A regal, so recognisable voice.

"Mary!" Lola exclaimed, snapping up and turning around. Behind her, Kenna stood slowly, falling into a deep curtsy. Upon hearing the rustle of silk, Lola followed suit. Holding onto Greer and Aimee's arms for strength, Mary watched with satisfaction, until she moved a hand and both ladies stood

"The correct correct form of address is your Imperial Majesty." Mary coolly reminded her, her voice dripping with royal authority, but still weak from her illness. Her body was pale and thin, a stark contrast to the glowing porcelain, strong figure she had once possessed. "However, I will allow it this one time. Now," she moved on. "what is this? Why is my name being brought up?" Mary asked.

"Please, Mary." Lola begged. "You are my friend!

"_Aylee_ was your _friend_." Mary glared. "_Greer_," she looked to her right, her oldest and dearest and most loyal. "and _Kenna_," she glanced up at her half sister in law. "are your _friends_._ I _am your _Queen_ and_ you _are _my_ subject! And you_ will _**obey** me!


	19. Chapter 19

_"We are gathered here today to assume the guilty or innocence of this Lady. You are hereby charged with adultery, being seduced by the devil and high treason, all punishable by death. How do you plead?"_

_"Not guilty, my lord."_

_"My lords, it is time to pass judgement."_

_"Guilty."_

_"Guilty."_

_"Guilty."_

_"Guilty."_

_"Guilty."_

_"Guilty."_

_"Guilty."_

_"Guilty."_

_"Guilty."_

_"My lady, at dawn, tomorrow morning, you will be sentenced to death by beheading. Take her away!"_

_"No, no, please! Stop this, please! I'm sorry! No!"_

_Cheers. Deafening, blood lusty cheers. _

_"Enter the traitor!"_

_The squeak of a gate. Pounding footsteps._

_"Lady Lola Flemming. You are guilty of high treason against our sovereign Lady, Mary of the house of Stuart, first of her name, Empress Regnant of Scotland, England, Wales and Ireland, Queen Consort of France, Duchess of Anjou, Edinburgh and Lorraine. Do you have any last words as you stand before your Empress and your God?"_

_"I am sorry, Mary, please! Do not do this, please! No!" was screamed. "Protect my son, tell him I love him! Tell him everyday!"_

_The rise and fall of an axe._

_Blood._

_Punishment._

Mary awoke with a gasp. Startled, she snapped up, taking in a large, shaky breath as she looked over the darkened bedroom. Mary inhaled sharply, three times. Shakily, she drew in another breath, swallowing thickly, looking all over the room once more. It was dark, no fire lit, no candles burning.

"What is it?" Francis murmured sleepily next to her. "Is it the baby?" he asked, voice gruff and gristly.

"No, no. I'm fine. We're fine." Mary assured, placing a hand on her twenty seven week old bump. Under her hand, she felt a strong kick, relaxing her instantly. "Just a strange dream." Mary finished. He opened his eyes.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, they've been happening. I'm alright." Mary nodded a few times.

Such strange dreams for seven weeks. Tonight, Lola's execution, the Lady she hadn't seen in six weeks, much to her pleasure. Last night, Kenna's birth to her second child. The night before, Greer and James' wedding. The night before that, Francis' death in a forest.

"What was it about?" Francis asked, slowly sitting up, placing a hand on the kicking and turning unborn baby that was housed safely in her womb, as if trying to settle it.

"Leith." Mary lied. Francis frowned. "He and Greer got married, in this Court." Mary lied.

"This one?" Francis frowned. "How bizarre. Leith's never set foot in English Court." he added. Mary didn't want to tell him she lied. Well, it wasn't exactly a lie. She had had that dream, but six days ago. It was a little silly, however. Leith had never stepped foot in English Court, like Francis had said. Only around the country when he was doing business for Mary, desperate to get away from France after Claude's death.

And the fact that Leith and Greer hadn't been together since three weeks before James was born.

Plus, Lady Castleroy was already married, to Lord Castleroy.

"Yes, but Dame Amelia says that odd dreams are common with pregnancy. Don't worry." Mary tried to assure. She didn't want to tell him she'd dreamt Lola's death. And really didn't want to admit that one sick part of her wanted to see it again, to admit that it was somewhat satisfying to watch. Even if it was simply in a dream form.

Plus, he had gotten his second letter from Lola a few days ago, just after they had decamped from Edinburgh to London. She had told him of their son and how well he was doing, how relaxed and not angry he was. How he constantly asked for his father and eagerly awaited his next letter or visit. How he accepted Killian as his step father, but would not let his own father be replaced by him. There was even a small, squiggly drawing resembling a spider at the end, from said child himself.

Neither had talked about it, but knew it effected the King of France more than he'd let on. They both knew that Francis wished to physically see his boy, not just hear from him. But, with Mary's pregnancy progressing quickly and the issue of Catherine de Medici still unresolved, things were simply more important than John at this time. Not that Francis liked it, however.

However, Mary was well aware that now, she and James and the baby came before even France and the troubles with Catherine de Medici. On the days that he was especially sweet, taking them for picnics before it got too cold, strolling around the gardens or spending the day helping James build a small toy for his new brother or sister, Mary drempt of happier things. Their wedding, their happier times in France, the bliss of their wedding tour. But, most noticeably of all, the first time they met. The first time they met as children.

_Francois de Valois waited patiently next to his mother and father, the entire court behind them, eagerly awaiting the little Queen of Scots' arrival. She'd been on a boat for many weeks, on a carriage for as many hours, making Francois' eagerness to attain a playmate grow and grow. It just so happened she was to be his wife._

_After a few minutes standing in the bright sunlight, Francois finally saw a carriage pull up in the courtyard. He felt a smile pull his lips up, as the footman jumped down from the back and brought the brown leather box, guards on brown stallions in silver and tartan guarding the carriage well, another carriage pulling up behind the first, Scottish guards on horses leading it and a pure white stallion._

_There was an audible intake of breath as the curtain was sweeped into place and the door was unlocked, before opened, and the footman reached inside. Francois beamed as he saw long, pale and thin fingers wrap around the satin glove of the footman. He looked up at the hand as it came outside, covered in a signet ring, jewelled rings on the other fingers, and a bracelet that was made of twisted gold and emeralds. A pale gold satin triangular heel popped out of the carriage, closely followed by a sea of gold satin skirts. He held his breath as slowly, the five year old Queen of Scotland came outside her carriage and stepped out onto French soil for the first time. There was an audible gasp as the little girl came into complete view._

_She was very beautiful. The child was tall, adding to the appearance of her age. She had long black curls that trailed down past her corset that shimmered in the sunlight, the lighter black -almost dark golden- sections more noticeably against the darker sections. Her eyes were a beautiful golden that faded into a bright green. She was slim and had snowy, pale skin, high cheekbones and plump lips that stood out with the dark pink rouge the wore on them, eyes accentuated with her long eyelashes painted a dark raven._

_Her gown was a beautiful shade of gold satin. A bardot cut exposed her neck, shoulders and chest and gold satin clung to her arms tightly. She wore a tight gold bodice with gold lace on the top hemline, soft embroidery under that, small rubies and emeralds in the intricate embellishments. Her skirt was wide, hiding layers upon layers of underskirts, a long train of gold satin behind her. Vine-like embroidery covered the section of her skirt over her legs, two inches above the bottom hemline having matching embroidery and small jewels, going all across the front of the skirt and over the train in a long inch and a half tall rectangle. On the crooks of her elbows and across her back was a shawl of gold velvet, on top of it was a matching long cape of velvet and silk embroidery._

_On the Queen's head she wore a tall crown of intricately twisted gold with large pale emeralds along the bottom, around the middle and the top, three larger and the darkest emeralds standing tall on the very top of the crown. She wore long chandelier earrings on each ear, two teal coloured emeralds on the lobe, a bright emerald holding together a large half circle of intricate twisted gold, before a dark emerald shone on the bottom, moving softly with the wind. A matching large necklace was across her chest, her rings matching the gold and emerald colour scheme._

_She had a regal posture about her, an aura of royalty and an intimidating ambience around her, Francois could tell, even from being quite a few feet away from her. Her raised chin emitted her courageous and fearless aura._

_Francois smiled. He wasn't sure what to expect when he saw the Queen of Scots, but seeing her now, she was perfect._

_The young boys' dialogue was obvious in his eyes. And, when the two orbs met for the first time, they both knew exactly what the other was thinking._

_And both knew that they would get along just fine._

Francis opened his mouth to reply, but the doors to their chambers opened. Well, one of them did. And a little body came rushing towards them at lightning speed.

"Mama! Papa!" the boy squealed in delight, launching himself on top of the bed, giggling.

"Hello, you." Francis grinned. The boy was adorably mischievous. Nobody could get irritated at his antics. "Did you run from Madame Alante and Dame Rose again?" he asked, referring to the nursemaids they had for him that night.

"Yes." he admitted. "They were sleeping still. Didn't wake them up." he shrugged a shoulder, making himself comfortable on Francis' lap as he turned to his mother, eyes shining bright at the thought of being with them.

"Hi, mama." James reached over to his mothers' growing bump. "Hello brother!" he smiled. Mary's smile was as bright as the not yet risen sun, touching both of her ears practically. The boy was so sweet and caring it brought tears to her eyes, even more so since she was pregnant.

She wiped her eyes, pretending to rub them.

"Are you sleepy, mama?"

"Yes, love."

"Why don't you go back to sleep with us?" Francis asked, enjoying the boys' smile.

"Can I? Can I?" he repeated, starting to jiggle in excitement.

"You can, little one." Francis helped him fall to one side, safely on the bed and pillows. "Just be careful and don't cause trouble."

"Won't, Papa." James promised, his voice little and sweet and diluted with tiredness. Mary felt her own eyelids get heavy with fatigue. She closed them happily, feeling two hands across her body. A large, substantial one wrapped around her own fingers. A tiny, nimble set resting carefully on her stomach.

_"The French left you to the wolves. They left you, a queen of three countries, in a convent. No protection. No anything. You were held captive for years by the English, and they allowed it. How can you defend them?" their captor hissed._

_"They did indeed to all those things. However, Timothy, the English attack on the convent left all but me dead. They usually wish to take responsibility for their actions, but why would they risk international war, to get something they had wanted for years?_

_"Not at all," she smirked. He went to punch her, but she casually rolled out of the way. "Is that all you're going to throw at me? If it is, I'm disappointed," she complained slightly, walking almost casually. "Now, down to business," she said casually, snapping her bonds with ease. "You've taken those I care for hostage. I have a problem with that. No matter your motives, these people will go back to where they belong, and you will suffer for this treasonous act."_

_"You figured out a way to get free." he observed._

_"Of course I did. A little trick I learned when the English kidnapped me from a Brecon fortress. Simply burn the ropes and they will fall whenever you please," she smirked. "You left us alone, without binding our feet. It made my job so easy. Child's play, really." she nodded once._

_"You really think I wouldn't have a plan for when your facade comes into play?" he grinned, reaching behind him, pulling out the handle of a blade. Mary smirked, reaching behind her own body and onto one of the chairs, bringing up the actual blade. He scowled. She smirked wider, raising her eyebrows in challenge._

_"Goodness, is killing you going to take all night?" he asked, irritated._

_"More than likely so," she smiled. "Are you busy?" she questioned as they started to circle each other._

_"Not at all," he grinned. He walked in circles with the young queen, grabbing an arbalest from underneath a gold and red silk pillow. He went to fire, but nothing happened. Mary chuckled, pulling out three arrows from the arm of an overstuffed chair._

_"Impressive for a child, I will admit." he nodded once. "You noticed?" he asked._

_"Of course I did. I've had to do a lot of that to keep my head over my reign," Mary narrowed her eyes as he let the gun fall to the floor. She did the same with her arrows, not looking at her fellow captives as she walked slowly over to the man, watching as he stared into her eyes, before reaching into the bowl of apples, pears and strawberries, bringing out a dagger and throwing it. Mary quickly reached into her belt and pulled out her own, throwing it, listening as the silver crashed into each other and fell to the ground with a 'clunk'._

_"It's all very good, your way of doing things, I will admit. And this has surprised me, majesty. I didn't realise one would use my own weapons against me. You've even used fire to your advantage," he noticed, looking down at the burned rope on the floor. " But now, it's my turn." he brought a small hand cannon and aimed it at Mary and Francis, whom she was standing near in their circling. Catherine screamed and Timothy yelled in frustration, as Mary mockingly dangled the piece of rope he needed to burn close to her face._

_"Nice try," she threw it carelessly behind her and they circles again, this time getting closer and closer._

_"It is clear that your problem is with the Scottish Queen! Please, at least let my son go!" Catherine begged. Mary inwardly cursed. The woman was idiotic._

_"Calm yourself, all you are is collateral damage, no harm will come to you. Again, you won't risk international war just to irritate me." Mary addressed Catherine and Timothy._

_"What do you want with us?" Henry demanded._

_"Nothing from you, something from my queen." Henry looked at Catherine. "What? Don't you remember me?"_

_"What are you talking about?"_

_"A shame," he pouted. "I remembered you."_

_"The battle of Oueatreaux, the general of the fifth wave suddenly was captured. Much like me, by the English. This is what they were building. My would-be assassin. This way, he would want to kill me, but the English would face no repercussions as this man is a Scot."_

_"Very clever." they stopped, face to face, nose almost touching nose. "I'm all yours, sweet girl." He leaned forwards. Mary chuckled and reached into his mouth, pulling out a small and sharp glass vial filled with a bright yellow-orange substance._

_"Very clever." Mary mocked, throwing it behind her again. It clinked and rolled on the floor."You know, you have made one very big mistake." Mary whispered, as they were still close._

_"And what's that?" he chuckled._

_"You let me talk." she said, pulling his own sword from his belt and sheathing it into his chest, right above his heart. He instantly choked and fell to his knees, blood spilling from his mouth, his soul leaving his body before his chest hit the floor. Mary looked down at him coldly, not one emotion in her eyes or on her face._

_Slowly, she brought the blade from his chest and brought the blood covered blade from the body, holding it high, before turning and effortlessly snapping the French's bonds._

_**Kick.**_

Mary smiled down at her growing bump, encased lightly in a thin gown of cream lace that accentuated her growing figure. Said bump was cradled gently in slightly swollen fingers and hands, popping out more than usual in the soft material. Raven curls fell down her waist as the young, resplendent Empress adored her unborn child. Her left hand cradled the underside of it, the right gently running over the material, enjoying the feeling of her child kicking and squirming in response to it's mothers gentle touch and the end of her soothing melody. She whispered words of love in her mother tongue, comforted by the sensation of her unborn baby moving inside of her.

The Empress had always suited pregnancy. Never putting on noticeable weight, waist and hips plumping for the child, then snapping back when said child was born. Her breasts were bigger, swollen due to imminent milk, but according to Francis, they were -if possible- even more beautiful. Her bump was never overly big, simply a noticeable bulge that couldn't be mistaken for anything other than pregnancy. Her skin glowed, a smile barely ever off her face, her hair was glossier and thicker, the onyx locks longer, as well as her nails. Mary enjoyed every moment of pregnancy, and this was no different.

Mary walked over towards the large window, settling her weight upon it, staring out at the beautiful English countryside. They had retreated from London to Sherborne a few days prior, and the scenery was breathtaking. The ride was long and dreary, but Mary had been getting a little too anxious in the town for her midwives liking, so to the peaceful south they went. Francis had obeyed the midwives even more than he did his own father, even if he was a King himself. It had became apparent since Nostradamus told him of Mary's conception that she and their unborn and born child were the most important things to him -on par with France-, and he couldn't risk them for anything. If Mary was anxious and stressed, then so were James and their unborn baby, and he couldn't allow that. Besides, they still ruled well in the smaller castle and still held court there, it wasn't that different from anything else.

Not as beautiful as her homeland, but beautiful nonetheless, Mary silently admitted, watching the pretty scene in front of her unwind. She watched the trees sway and waltz in a tune all their own, heard the echoing cries of birds and wolves, how the bushes provided a counter beat to the cheering Englishmen in the distance and the serene rustles of growing crops. She could see the faint glows from torches that illuminated small villages in the horizon, she could smell the ash from the fires and the salt of whatever was being roasted for dinner. She could smell the sweet flowers in the courtyard and the confectionery being prepared in the kitchens. She could hear the laughs from her people and allowed the few moments of peace in an otherwise hectic life to wash over her, relieving her of all the stress she faced in the life of an Empress.

She looked beautiful, as Francis repeatedly told her. Wearing a gown of cream lace that left her shoulders exposed, a few inches of lace on either bicep holding it up, her arms bare. Now at almost thirty one weeks pregnant, the crisp English air was a little colder now, so a cape of cream fur hung from her elbows, trailing behind her for a foot and a half. The lace hugged and accentuated her bump, lightly resting upon it, drawing attention to it, as all expectant mothers who were rulers had to do when they grew with child. The lace hung lightly over her legs, a mixture of chiffon and the satin slip she wore underneath providing a somewhat pleasurable sensation around her sometimes stiff legs. Flat satin shoes were hidden underneath her gown, providing her with even more comfort. Mary hated wearing court heels. Although they were pretty, they hurt her feet when she had to stand for hours at a time. Plus, her feet tended to swell in pregnancy, and stern midwives immediately removed all her heels and corsets when they were informed by Nostradamus of the Queen of France's conception.

The pregnant Empress was covered in the jewels that fitted someone of her station. Although politics were slow around the Empire and France at this time of the year -post the height of the harvest when working men and women's bellies were full- there were still a lot of it to get through, seeing as though she had to rule over five countries simultaneously, not just one. A thin bandeau diadem hung from her flowing locks, light enough to be comfortable to wear -and she hated being draped in jewels in pregnancy anyway- but big enough to let everybody know who she was. As usual, chandelier earrings fell from her ears. Mary couldn't get out of that one -Kenna always insisting that she don them even when pregnant, even doing so as a pregnant woman herself- so they settled on a smaller pair of golden sets with small diamonds and a pearl hanging at each end. A dainty chain of gold hung from her neck, a strawberry sized diamond hanging from it -once again, Kenna- and her fingers were adorned in equally as dainty gold and diamond rings. They were slightly swollen and Mary hated to be donned in uncomfortable, heavy jewels when it made life a little harder than need be. Her hair fell in curls, soft ringlets falling down past her hips -longer thanks to the pregnancy- and some sections were lightly braided back from her face, a small pearl adoring each twist.

It was evening now, a sacred few moments before James came for tea and cakes with his father, their usual proper family time before the parents had to go back to ruling again, when Mary simply got to enjoy the time she had with her unborn child. As much as she adored her son and loved her husband and ladies, it was nice to have a few moments of peace and serenity with the little person who depended on her more than an empire did.

As if hearing his or her mothers' thoughts, the child gave a swift kick. Mary smiled down at her bump again, her eyes falling from the beautiful autumnal English countryside down to something equally as beautiful. She cupped her bump again, her fingertips quick enough to feel the indents of a small, growing foot.

_I love you,_ Mary thought, knowing the silent phrase would travel down to her child.

"Mama!" a voice cried with joy. Mary turned from the window to the door, seeing Francis come in with James on his hip, the latter twisting and squirming in joy at seeing her for the first time today.

"My love." Mary smiled to both of them, walking over to Francis. He stopped and allowed James to lean and kiss his mother, before waving to the bump she sported.

"Hello, mama!" he giggled. "Hello, brother!" James smiled wide. Mary's heart melted as a tiny hand found her bump, rubbing it a little. James seemed so excited for his new sibling, a stark contrast to his reaction to his other sibling who lived not four days ride from where they were now.

"Aren't you sweet today," Mary noticed, placing a hand on his hair, stroking back the silky soft strands.

He let out a sound that resembled a giggle. Mary smiled at him, adoring his sweetness and his cuteness.

"Should we eat?" Francis spoke up from enjoying his view of the mother-son interaction.

"Yay! Look!" James pointed to the door that just squeaked open, revealing several servants carrying pots of freshly brewed tea and trays of cakes and biscuits. "Look!" he repeated, his eyes instantly locking onto his favourite cake, a sweet sponge cut in half, held together by a layer of sweet and thick whipped cream and chopped strawberries, the same chopped berries laying inside the sweet substance and laying on top, dusted with powdered sugar.

Mary watched as they lay their treats down, before slowly taking her place at the table. Now, it was her turn to enjoy the interaction between Francis and James, smiling as they laughed with each other, quietly sipping her tea and eating whatever small pastry was on her silver plate. It was satisfying to see them now, seeing now far they'd came from not that long ago. Now, it seemed like James had known his father his entire life, enjoying his company and presence when just a few months ago, he couldn't stand it. Mary adored them both.

A quick knock echoed throughout the room. Mary turned from her smile towards her husband and son and towards the door, watching as Sara poked her head inside the room.

"Imperial Majesty, aunt. Uncle James, Earl of Moray, the Earl of Montin and Baron Sebastian de Portiers request an immediate audience with your Majesties, aunt, uncle." Sara rambled, in a mix of respect and familiarity.

Uh oh. Mary thought. Whenever Bash, Leith and Bash wished to speak with her and Francis without Kenna with them, it was important. Political and important.

"Very well." Mary replied. "Take the Prince, have him put in the nursery with the Baroness de Portiers and Lady Castleroy."

"Very well, aunt. Shall I take them to Princess Odette de Valois, Lady Meredith de Portiers, Lady Rose and Lord George Castleroy, aunt?"

"With their mothers, yes." Mary instructed, swallowing down the sadness she felt when James started refusing his cousin's arms as she picked him up.

"No, no, mama! Papa! No!"

"I'm sorry, my Prince. Mama and I will come and see you later." Francis said as the door opened, taking away James and Sara and bringing in James Stewart, Leith Bayard and Sebastian de Portiers.

"What is it?" Francis asked, standing up. Mary said nothing, just watched their bows as the candlelight glittered along her pretty face, one hand finding it's way to her mouth, a nervous habit from childhood she'd picked up after her fifth month of conception with her second child. News for Catherine de Medici, who had been confirmed to not be in France and confirmed not to be dead, had been scarce, something everybody knew was worse than having a ton of news about her. A silent Catherine was usually more deadly than a present Catherine.

"Francis, our sister Elisabeth, the Queen of Spain has written."

"What does she say?"

"One of the working girls stationed in Spain, Mathilde, told her what we wanted her to know of Catherine. She is repulsed by your mothers' actions, doesn't understand how in Catherine's mind, she's doing the right thing. By you or any of her children. She offers help in resolving these issues, since she'd heard of the trail of outrage this 'woman' has left in her wake in Spain. But her husband-" Bash trialled off.

"Hates me." Mary finished, speaking up after many minutes of silence. "He mistrusts me because I am female, wishes for you to be the main ruler here, not I. He hates a female having power, blood written power." Mary added, glancing at Francis.

"You are right, Majesty." Leith said. Mary gave him a look. "Mary." he amended. Mary smiled a little, nodding for him to go on. "He respects a Catholic holding power, but not a female. Even more so you, since you rule over France with Francis." Mary looked over at Francis, who seemed to be deep in concentration. "He is angered that your Empire rivals his own, mistrusts you since your power and popularity grows every day. Plus, the issues with sir Francis Drake have unsettled him. But, he is known for disliking any female monarch, simply you more than the rest." Leith added.

"And Catherine is there."

"She doesn't say so, but the letter takes time to get here, I have no doubt something had happened after that." Bash tried.

"Well, what do we do about this?"

"We can't really do anything. She's not really a French subject, even though she is the Queen mother. She's Italian, she only answers to the King of Italy. In addition, we can't go barging into Spain, Phillip would use that as grounds for war, he's trying to find an excuse, as you know."

Mary silently nodded.

"We have the Queen of Spain on our side, that much is obvious." James finally talked. "But, she is merely Queen Consort, they have no children yet, she has no real power in Spain. Phillip has all the power, and he is known to be manipulative."

"She's a Valois. She's strong willed." Francis almost snapped. The two had never gotten on, and it hadn't helped by recent events.

"I don't doubt it, but if Queen Elisabeth's on our side, it won't take Phillip long to realise and start to change this. And, if Catherine is there, she will feed him what she knows of both of you, your weaknesses, your countries' weaknesses." James replied.

Mary stood from her chair and took a few steps away from them, back to the window, as if seaking solace from this situation. "So, what do we do? How do we stop this?"

"All we can do is send word to Elisabeth, make sure she has her husband not believe a word Catherine says. Perhaps we can send Sir Drake over to Spanish waters again, with the addition of our French Pirate allies." Mary and Bash gave Francis a look, still more than a tad confused about his odd decision to ally himself and France with the pirate Martine and the man's flock of pirates. "Nab her whilst Phillip is distracted, by perhaps a mock battle, Elisabeth could help with that. Maybe get her over to the safety of France, then to England, where we can ally ourselves with our sister officially." Bash went on. "Since we won't be going to France, or travelling, anytime soon." he glanced down at Mary's growing bump, in which she had placed a protective hand over. She knew Catherine would never hurt her grandchild -she'd proved that with James- but if her words to Phillip -infused by odd anger and jealousy- started a war between them, there was every possibility that James and this child would be one of the main targets.

She gulped, starting to not listen as Francis, James, Leith and Bash plotted about this whole Catherine ordeal.

Nerves burned in her stomach, but it was worse than that.

_The woman lay in bed. She couldn't move. Something was wrong. Something was wrong._

_Pain...Such incredible pain. A pain like she'd never felt before. It was incomparable to any sickness or injury she'd ever had._

_Mary doubled over, a small groan of pain leaving her lips. She felt the urge to vomit the dinner she'd eaten just mere minutes previously. Her breath was nearly lost from the pain._

_"Ugh." She breathed, a shuddering breath mixing in with the groan. She scrunched her face in a small grimace, lightly trembling from the pain. Her teeth clenched, and a bead of sweat dripped down her face._

_She clutched her stomach, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with her. The pain simultaneously drew her organs together and ripped them apart, coming in waves. Pain, then incomparable pain. Stars could be seen every time she closed her eyes._

_"Ugh." She whimpered, feeling her stomach lurch again. Trying to settle the nausea, she breathed in and out in short, sharp breaths._

_"Oh my god." she mewed, running a hand through her sweat laden hair. Mary was clueless about what was wrong with her. The only thing she could think of it being close to was the worst menstural cramps she'd ever had in her life. But, that was impossible._

_Her stomach lurched violently again and she shot up, the pain doubling. Unable to quiet the cry she let out, she threw back the blankets in a attempt to get up to regurgitate._

_That's when she noticed it._

_The blood._

_"No!" Mary screamed out, unable to not do so. The blood covered the sheets, in a long patch from side to side. More than when Catherine had given birth to Charles when Mary was a child and they'd seen the mess. More than when Sebastian had been stabbed by the English in an attempt to save Scotland from said country. More than any she'd seen before._

_"Help me! Please!" She cried out to nobody in particular, but it was worth a shot. She looked in between her legs again and noticed the sickening trail of bright red blood, two inches horizontal, flowing down her legs and inner thighs. Her heart rate and pulse forcing the blood out faster. Another clot of blood pumped out steadily every time her heart beat._

_Drawing in a long breath, a high pitched wine of agony leaving her lips as the tears started to flow, more scared than she'd been in her life. Crawling over to the side of the bed, not caring about the dull, intense pain in her knee, as she physically couldn't hurt it any more, she reached for it, holding out a hand for the white vase to throw at the wall, to alert the guards who somehow hadn't heard her, but a intense dropping pain forced a scream from her lips._

_It was as if someone had taken a huge rock, jammed it behind her rib cage, and let it drop, falling out of her, breaking everything in it's path. Unable to stop, she placed her head in the small pot near the bed and regurgitated due to the intense pain._

She remembered that pain. That pain had been with her for almost four years. She'd never forgotten that pain.

**Her stomach.**

Why did her stomach hurt so much?

_"Presentando a su Majestad, Catalina de la casa de Medici, Reina Madre de Francia." _the herald cried. Confidently, in walked an older woman with copper curls. Her gown was dark green chiffon, the heat of the Spanish autumn impressive and stifling. She wore a crown of gold and emeralds, the tiny figure walking confidently over towards the two golden thrones.

She curtseyed a little, observing the dark haired, dark eyed, olive skinned, King in regal red and gold. His crown was impressive and large, livery collar sparkling in the bright sun peeking through the windows. His chin was high, his posture regal.

She looked over towards his wife and Queen. She smiled brightly at Princess Elisabeth Valois, her eldest legitimate daughter. The Queen Consort of Spain was donned in a white, light gown with blue roses embroidered over it, a silver tiara glistening on her dark hair. Dark green eyes glistened, much like Sebastian's. However, there was love in those eyes, but much more uncertainty and mistrust.

"Queen Catherine, how delightful to officially meet my mother in law for the first time, somebody so legendary." King Phillip said, voice thick with his Spanish accent.

"Thank you, your Majesty. I am honoured to lay eyes on one so powerful in this world." Catherine began, ever the diplomat.

"May I help your Majesty? Or do you wish to see your delightful daughter, my wife and Queen?"

"As wonderful as it is to lay eyes on my child once again, I must admit that it is not. I can help you, highness."

"And how is that?"

"By offering you something you and I both wish for."

"And what is that?"

"The end of the reign of Mary Stuart."


	20. Chapter 20

The Empress woke up with a soft groan leaving her lips. She looked around the room. Still dark. The dying fire crackled near the bed, the only source of light in the room. Candles long since blown out smouldered slightly. They had been specially made for the Queen, having magnolian petals slightly crumbled up into the wax, making the entire room smell of the sweet scent.

Mary looked around to her husband. He slept soundlessly, turned to her, cheekbones high and jawline as sharp as ever, more prominent as he slept, face serene and handsome. Francis had started confiding in her about French politics when she hit eighteen weeks. Her husband had told her that the moment he left France to go to her and James, Catherine started meddling in his affairs, making sure that everybody disobeyed Francis' orders and followed her own. She had the tendency to forget that she was no longer the Queen of France, borderline turning the nobility against Francis and to her. Something of which he could not allow. So, until the next day, he needed all the rest he could get.

Mary looked over at the moon. It hadn't moved much since the last time she remembered being awake, Mary thought with despair. With this pregnancy and James', Mary found it hard to gain the rest she needed. And, with the growing bump she knew would double in size during her pregnancy, she knew that not much sleep would be attained over the next few months. She'd spent hours tossing and turning, attempting to get comfortable, only to attain less than an hour, before discomfort found her again. As excited and welcome as this pregnancy was, there were drawbacks into growing an heir inside of her.

Mary sighed softly, running a hand through her silky curls. She needed as much rest as possible, determined to rule her empire until she physically could not any more. That was difficult with protective elder half brothers and a protective husband who demanded she not stress herself out with anything. As much as she understood their love and protection, she was simply with child, not made of porcelain. Sorting out kerfuffles regarding grain, marriages and nobility appeasement would not do any damage. It was simply irritating at times.

Looking over at the balcony, she noticed that the doors were open and the light chiffon curtains were dancing in the soft summer breeze. In a choreography of their own, they worked to appease their mistress under the guidance of the wind. It was a beautiful sight. Another of the reasons Mary adored her homeland. England and even France simply could not compare to nights like these.

Slowly slipping out of bed, Mary wrapped herself in a light fur blanket, letting it hold itself up at her elbows, gently grazing the floor as she walked out of the darkened bedchambers and into the balcony, her feet gently kissing the cool stones of the floor.

Her homeland was beautiful. Rolling hills as far as the eye could see, lakes pooling in the valleys, streams meandering through the forests and the fields. The trees danced to a beat of their own, crops and sunflowers providing counter beats to the orchestra of summertime dance. The soft, August breeze gently adored her body and face, brushing the long, thick waves of onyx locks over her shoulders. The weather was perfect. Not stiflingly hot like it was in France, nor was it horribly cold and unharvestable like how it was in some parts of the England-Wales border. It was just perfect. Warm enough to be comforted by the heat, high up enough to be relieved by the cold.

The Empress watched her beautiful land dance for her, revelling in the beauty given to her by her father. Many-a-day, the young Stuart Empress wished to know the man who sired her. To feel a fatherly, protective love that he had expressed to all of his children. All of his daughters and his sons, his bastards and his heirs. There would have been no preferential treatment, proffering his sons over his daughters, his bastards over his heirs. Not like Henry and Sebastian, or any of the Valois-Medici blooded children. Not like Catherine preferring Francis, Charles, Henry and Hercules over Elisabeth, Claude and Margret. He cared for his children brought out of a dutiful marriage bed and a lusty, sinful bed just the same, never caring for a child more than the others. Well, maybe her, being the only surviving heir he had, but simply because of only that.

Growing up, she'd heard stories of her father. In those first, sacred quintet of years. His kindness and his ruthlessness. His hatred and admiration of his cousin, King Henry of England. How much he loved his first wife, Madeline, and how much he took care of his second, Mary's own mother, seeing as though he couldn't offer the same love that he had the long dead Valois Princess. He begrudged Protestantism, like most at the time, but still cared for those he ruled over who were Protestant. His passionate war speeches as he and Henry did battle for the Scottish-English borders. His adoration for his country and his family, the protectiveness he felt towards both.

She wondered what it would be like to cry out 'papa' and jump into his arms as a child. To not have to have been shipped away at age give to a strange, foreign land, to a cold mother figure and an absent father figure who was power hungry and saw her as a bargaining chip for England. Nothing more. As much as she cherished those three years in France -with her husband and the growing Valois/Medici clan- Mary honestly thought she might have given it up to be with her father, should he have lived through that fateful battle. She wondered what it would have been like to be the crown Princess, Duchess of Rothsay for more than six days, to have the title of 'future' ruler for as long as Francis had his. To not have had the English lusting for her blood all -bar six- her days. To simply be a child who loved her father, not a Queen with the weight of the world on her still young shoulders.

That itself was one of the reasons why she was so conflicted when she realised James was still alive inside of her. Like her, he'd never have a father. He'd be born a regnal ruler and have a target on his back. He'd be a King before a child, to never have the opportunity to cry out 'papa' and run into his own fathers' arms. To have to be locked away in a castle all of his days, eventually growing resentful for his protection. To never see what a real man and King was supposed to be, how he was supposed to act and treat others. To have somebody to turn to when he needed manly advise, to ask how to treat his wife or the woman he loved. To have somebody to replicate, to be able to grow into somebody faithful and true. For years, James didn't have that, and it was because of Francis and Lola that he did not. That was one of the reasons it took so long to forgive, hell, Mary didn't even know if Francis was completely forgiven most days.

As much as she hoped this child that grew inside of her turned out like James, sweet, kind, perceptive and intelligent, they would always be different. They would always be different. This child would be born into a whole family, an undivided union between two mighty lands brought together by his or her parents. James was an important political occurrence who saved France and Scotland from uncertainty and his mother from insanity. As much as she hoped the two of them could love each other and depend on each other as they grew up, there would always be differences between the two. Differences that she couldn't fix.

Mary blinked as arms wrapped around her waist. Arms covered in thin brocade, dark and intricate. She relaxed into them, feeling no fear. She knew who it was. Mary always knew.

"What are you doing awake at this hour?" he said, his voice quiet and soft, almost melodic. "The sun hasn't even risen yet." he noted, looking over her shoulder at their country, darkened and beautiful, even now.

"Your son won't allow me to rest." Mary smiled softly. But, as much as she would like to be asleep, Mary knew she wouldn't trade this life inside her for anything. It was a surprise, but a welcome surprise. One that brought Francis and James closer too her, becoming the glue that truly brought them together.

However, things between them were not truly fixed just yet. They were well on their way on becoming who they were in the early days of their marriage and courtship, but mistrust and uncertainty still stained both of them in different ways.

"Is that so?" Francis asked into her neck, tightening his arms around her, one hand falling on the noticeable bump she sported underneath her sleeping gown.

"It is." Mary answered her husband. Her hand found his, warm and alive underneath her own. To this day, after grieving for him, it was still surreal to have him as he was now. Alive, with her, having a second child with her, raising their first and their Kingdoms, side by side, something she was sure would never happen.

"Why don't you come back to bed, I'll have Steven send for some lilac and rose tea and ginger biscuits, so you can relax. You must rest, love."

"Mary," Francis said, coming into the room. Opening her eyes, Mary instantly locked them onto her husbands' cerulean orbs, smiling softly as he came forwards. There had been a certain spring in his steps over the last few weeks, and Mary was enjoying every moment of his unbridled happiness.

"Francis," she smiled.

"Were you sleeping?" he berated himself. He didn't mean to wake her, just check on her.

"No, just resting." Mary answered. She placed a hand on her growing, twenty one week old bump, visible in the slip she wore, cleverly disguised by robes and thick fabrics in court. Reaching for his hand as he sat at her side, he gave it willingly, pressing a kiss to her forehead, before on her growing stomach.

"What did the midwife say?" Francis asked, not liking the fact that he hadn't been with her at the small visit, but matters of his country took presidence as they always had to.

"She believes everything to be okay," Mary smiled softly. "She says we should feel him any day now, since I'm showing." Mary finished, rolling onto her side to see him better.

"You look so beautiful," he said, voice dripping with a mixture of love and awe as his hand crept up to cup her growing stomach, smiling up into her eyes.

"Thank you." she said, her voice soft.

"What will we tell James? He grows tired of Bash and I telling him that mama is tired." Francis noted, wrapping a large, substantial hand around her petite palm and long fingers.

"We'll tell him when he quickens, before court. He deserves to know that he is going to be a brother." Mary replied. "An elder brother." she added, noticing how Francis' eyes changed at the mention of the word brother. He still missed John, it was obvious. But, the truth was stark and clear. Mary and James and their unborn baby came first. They always had no.

"Shall I send for him? He misses you." Francis said, running his fingers around her wrist, enjoying the soft skin that was usually covered by gems and diamonds.

"Of course, this separation isn't good for either of us." Mary replied. "Will you stay with us? Just for a while?" Mary asked him, suddenly feeling anxious at the thought that he would leave them. Again.

"Of course I'll stay." Francis nodded. "I'm never leaving any of you, ever again."

"Mama." James babbled, walking over to his mother as she sat at her desk. His mother looked up as he came strolling into the room, instantly loosing interest in her conversation with the few working girls and spies she had set up in Spain. After all, letters could wait, her beloved little child was only going to be this small for so long.

"My love." Mary smiled, holding his hand as he walked up the small set of stairs Francis had commissioned a month ago, that lead him to a spare chair next to the Empress herself. Even with this pregnancy being considerably smoother than her first with James, it was still a precarious business, even more so due to the political importance of this child. So, Francis and James had banned her from picking up her adorable little toddler until the baby was born and she was healed. But his little pouting face and big eyes made it hard to resist his wishes.

"Mama." he smiled, carefully walking off the chair and settling onto what he could of her lap. He sat with his legs crossed, tiny back settled on the desk. Mary beamed at him, brushing some unruly curls from his face, settling them sort of tidily behind his little ears.

"Hello, love." Mary smiled. "Did you run away from Governess Aldive again?" Mary asked.

"Yep." he agreed, shamelessly. He accentuated the little word with a nod. Mary laughed. "She's not very fast." he added. Mary chuckled. Not only did he have his mothers' younger impulses to run around -something she remembered vividly doing all around French Court in her first year there- but he had Francis' long limbs. That made a deadly combination for the Governess Mary had employed to start structured lessons. It was now expected that the boy would rush away at a moment's notice. He seemed so proud of himself that Mary didn't have the heart to berate him for his mischievousness for. Besides, he had his fathers' charm, the boy could get away with anything with a smile. He wasn't called the 'sweetest, most perfect child in all of Europe' for no reason, after all.

Mary smiled at him, giving up on her fruitless attempts to smooth out the kinks in his black curls.

"Where's your Papa?" Mary asked.

"With Oncle Bash and Leith." he answered, starting to twirl her necklace in his little hands, a high neck silver bib-resembling necklace made up of small diamonds, resembling feathers.

"Do you know what they were talking about?" Mary asked.

"About Grandmere." he said, voice soft as his little hands slipped down from her necklace to the now very visible bump Mary sported. Mary tried to smile, loving the attentiveness and curiousity her son bore to the child inside her, but the words that fell from his lips unsettled her. Why would Francis be talking with Sebastian and Leith? Had something happened regarding Catherine?

As much as Francis had begun sharing things about France and his own clan to his wife, he had an awful habit of keeping things to do with Catherine from her. He had claimed it would stress her and the child, something that he couldn't let happen. The Empress of Great Britain and Queen of France was now twenty five weeks pregnant, clearly remembering the night she and Francis had told Court that she was pregnant.

_"This is a glorious day for all of Great Britain and France. The almighty Lord has smiled upon us all. My husband, the Emperor and I, stand before you, covered in glory, to deliver such amazing news. It is my privilege to announce to you and the world, that I carry within me an heir." Mary smiled wide, standing at the head of the table, husband by her side. She beamed at her court as they roared in excitement. A thunderous applause echoed through the grand room. Kissing his wife's hand, Francis smiled at her._

_"The Empress and I are pleased to share with you the news of our child. Long may he reign!" Francis raised his wine glass in celebration._

_"Long may he reign!" Court cheered, drinking their wine._

It had been such a pleasant evening, that evening. Wine and dancing, exquisite food and music. Happiness and joy echoing and rippling throughout all of court, even the ambassadors from around the word seemed excited to share the news to their homelands. It seemed like their reunion story was finished, with Mary being pregnant and the three of them being a disgustingly happy family picture. But, they weren't completely healed, Mary knew. Francis knew. An unborn baby and a happy son wasn't enough to remedy the ugly cuts and scars their relationship now sported. They still had a lot to work through, a lot to say to each other and a lot to forgive on both sides. Both were well aware of the fact. They always knew.

"What did they say?" Mary asked, coming back to reality.

"Don't know." he shrugged a shoulder. "They were very quiet, but Papa didn't seem happy when Leith got told something by sir Atale." His words were very misspoken and slurred, but he got his message across.

"Do you know what?"

"No, but Leith got angry. So did Papa and Bash." James' hand found her hand, the left remaining on her growing stomach. He gripped onto the lock of hair that was covered in diamond encrusted beads, much like the pearl braid she used to wear when she was younger in France. "When's the baby coming, mama?" James asked.

"In winter, love. After your birthday." Mary answered, straightening his light blue silk and white lace tunic. Like her own as a child, his clothes were almost always crooked in some shape or form.

Mary kissed his head softly, feeling his small hands grasp for her necklace once more, but couldn't focus on him. Only on the window. And what on earth was going on with Catherine de Medici.

"Francis, we cannot let this happen." Leith said. His King stopped pacing and looked towards him.

"I am aware, but what I am not is how we stop her." he said, voice dripping with irritation.

"We could send word to our sister, have her tell us things of what's happening in her court. And if you write to her, she must obey. Leeza is still a French subject, after all. Even if she married the King of Spain." Bash interjected, sipping on his mug of piping hot tea.

"No." Francis shut it down. "The King is like his father. He is persuasive, he can make whomever he wishes think whatever he wishes. Our sister may be strong minded, but that strength could only hold out for so long." he said, his voice now dripping with exhaustion. "He could have turned her mind against us, and if my mother is helping him get what he wants, and he finds out that his Queen is actively working against him, he could call for her head."

"We cannot do nothing, Francis." Leith said, standing up from his perch at the head of a small table. "You know fine well that being loved by Catherine de Medici is worse than being hated by her. She will rip this world apart." he added.

"I know. I just cannot believe the woman would be so foolish. I cannot forgive her anymore. I cannot let her convince me to hurt Mary, nor James, no matter if she thinks she's doing the right thing." Francis groaned. "She's supposed to be the whip smart Madame La Serpente. Not this foolish crackon who is filled with vengeance simply because I am using my own mind, not leeching from hers." he ran his hands over his face, the action rough.

"Papa!" a few small voices cried. The Frenchmen in Francis' new study turned to see the impressive doors open and two children come running in.

First came James, donned in light blue silk and white lace. His doublet was grand, dripping with finery in the blue and white materials. On his little legs, leather trousers, small boots pulled across his little feet. His hair was messy and crooked beyond belief, eyes big and bright and golden in the summer sun. He beamed instantly as he set eyes on his father and favourite uncles, rushing faster in his excitement to reach them.

Holding his hand was a little sixteen month old girl. She had copper curls just reaching her little shoulders, sparkling grey-green eyes and a big, toothless grin as she held her cousin's hand. Her hair was jewelled in a tiny silver crown, a few little pink gems glittering on top. On her little body was a pink muslin gown, donned in tiny little roses. Small percale shoes were on her tiny feet, sparkling in all their red Majesty.

"James." Francis knelt to the floor, catching the two little bodies as they pelted into him. The children started giggling as they latched onto him.

"Odette, stop harassing your uncle." Leith smiled sadly, getting away from his place on the floor and walking over to Francis and the children. He lifted the little girl up, holding her securely on his hip as she giggled at him.

"Sorry, papa." the little girl giggled. The girl was fiery and fearless, much like long dead little Prince Louis. And also much like her mother.

Bash shared a sad smile with his younger, half brother as he took his son into his arms and stood up, turning towards his brother, both thinking the same thing.

Princess Odette de Valois was the result of Princess Claude's brief marriage to Leith Bayard. A marriage approved on a few months after the Princess had returned to France. She had came to the royal court whilst Mary dealt with the Narcisse issue, but even Mary could see the attraction the duo felt. Soon, they were wed in a small ceremony after declaring their feelings towards the Regent at the time. That appeared to be that, they were settled and content, but not for long.

Claude had fallen pregnant with little Odette almost immediately after the marriage. The pregnancy grew smoother as time went on and mother and child successfully survived delivery, before Claude had fallen pregnant again, when Odette was no bigger than a newborn. The second time around, neither mother or child were so lucky. Claude and the little boy she attempted to birth a couple months early had died, leaving a bereft father and a little girl who looked exactly like her mother, but would never know her.

Odette started to babble in her fathers arms, playing with his hair as she giggled to him. Leith smiled sadly. Even though his wife's death was months ago, he still felt her loss, and always would. It was a blessing and a curse that Odette looked and acted exactly like Claude did. It was one of the harder things Francis had to find out when he returned from Italy.

"Papa." James tugged on Francis' ear. Cringing, father turned to son. "Tante is sick." James informed him.

"Tante?" Francis asked. "Which one?"

"Tante Kenna." James informed. "Tante Greer told me to tell you and Oncle. And 'dettie wanted to come." the little Crown Prince informed his father.

"Is it the baby?" Bash asked, coming closer to the boy. "That's making Tante sick?" Bash asked, remembering the horrid morning sickness both Kenna and Mary had suffered horribly with during the first months of pregnancy.

"Don't know." James said, throwing his little and long arms out, bent at the elbows, cocking one head to one side. "Could be. But Tante said to tell you and Papa."

"What about Mama?" Francis asked. "They're both having babies, is she alright?"

"I know!" James squealed, clapping his hands, clearly excited for his new baby brother or sister. "And no, mama's stuck in the throne room with the boring old Swedish ambassador. He's boring, papa!" James complained. "Mama doesn't like him, nor the Duke of Hedeby."

"Pious fool." Francis muttered. Mary wasn't the only one who disliked the Duke of Hedeby, strongly resembling the thoughts of John Knox -the long since subdued reverend- was the old Norwegian Duke who was sent by his rulers to make a deal with Mary on their behalf. "What did she say?"

"Mama sent me away from the meeting, but he makes her sad. Make her happy, papa! You said you would!" James complained, giving Francis a look that mirrored one that tiny Mary gave him when she wanted him to push his small boundaries in adventurous childhood antics. He even folded his arms and narrowed his eyes with a small 'humph' of displeasure. Francis laughed a little.

"I will." Francis chuckled. "But, Mama has to deal with the boring men. You will, one day."

"Not for a while. And i'll make them stop saying the same things over and over and over. And stop them from trying to get more!" he added, his voice nothing but a babble, the words quick, almost without pauses for breath. Again, just like little Mary.

"Me too, and me!" Odette babbled from Leith's arms, her voice nothing more than a sweet couple of long syllables. Bash smiled at the childish antics.

"Where's Meri?" Bash asked the tiny boy. The little Crown Prince was always aware of his little cousins where, he was the eldest, and therefore, the most protective of them all.

"Sleeping. With Rosie. George is with Tante Greer." James informed.

"And Tante Kenna?" Bash pushed.

"In your chambers, Oncle. She said not to bother you, but Tante Greer said you should go."

"You did well, neveu." Bash ruffled his unruly curls. James beamed, proud of his actions. "I'll go to her." he told himself and everybody in the room. "Francis," he addressed his half brother and King. "I'll be back soon. Surely Martine has more information for us by then."

Francis' eyes darkened, even with his son in his arms. But, even with his son in his arms, they weren't as dark as they normally would, when thinking of the devious Queen Catherine de Medici.

"Love, we have to talk." Francis said, strolling into Mary's study. Steven had told him the Empress' had finished her meetings with nobility and a quick privy council meeting, upon his insistence a few hours previously. It was before the evening meal, an intermission in the day where Mary took tea and snacks with James, a quick break from ruling. The sun had set earlier than expected, the clouds dark and the air sweet, just before a storm was to hit.

Mary sat on the head of the table, one not long but not short. Her light blue-grey ball gown sparkled slightly in the candlelight, her diadem glowing. The pregnant beauty slowly turned to him, taking a break from pouring tea from the silver tea pot.

"My love." Mary smiled softly.

James sat half way down the table, his chair on higher legs than the other two. He wore a new jacket, a little red velvet ensemble with gold embroidery, hair pulled up in a red satin ribbon. His face was slightly hidden from an impressive bouquet laying in the middle of the table, as well as a seven tiered stand covered in small cakes and biscuits, tarts and pastries. Small tea plates lay in front of them, as well as thick goblets.

"Papa!" James beamed, throwing himself to one side to catch eyes with his father. Francis grinned at him.

"Hey, you." he smiled, walking over to his mother. Francis placed a kiss to Mary's hair, a hand going to her growing stomach, visible and large underneath the soft fabric.

"What did you want to talk of?" Mary asked, ever the diplomat.

"My mother." he answered. Mary's eyebrows furrowed.

"What of her? What has she done now?" Mary asked.

"I do believe that this is a conversation for another time." Francis nodded to the boy. He walked over and picked him up from the tall chair. "Come on, mon petite prince. Go to Tante and your cousins." he said, walking with James on his hip. James wined, always having enjoyed the time he had with his mother, not liking to be away from her whenever it was not necessary.

His pleas fell on def ears as he was passed over to Simon. Francis closed the door and turned to his wife. Mary frowned a little.

"You're scaring me." she admitted. "What on earth could be so wrong that James would have to leave?" Mary asked. He took one of her small hands -a little swollen from pregnancy, not that he would have noticed- and lead her to one of the chaises near the fire. Francis didn't speak, just sat down next to her, taking that hand in his own once more.

"I've heard news from my cousin, Piero." Francis began. Mary frowned. His maternal Medici cousin was a dangerously ambitious man, much like Duke Claude de Guise, her own maternal uncle. What on earth could he be doing corresponding with Francis about Catherine? The only time the Medici family corresponded with the house of Valois-Angoulême was when they wanted something, something Mary knew first hand in her brief regency.

"About?" Mary pushed. What was this?

"My mother." Francis sighed. "He says he received word from a Monestry outside northern Milan. My mother took a lover there, and said lover was found dead after a rather ambitious rendezvous. And, stricken with guilt and grief, she was found dead at a noose."

Mary laughed aloud. "Catherine de Medici, guilt stricken? Does she think we're stupid?" Mary asked.

He chuckled. "I suppose she does. She has a rather high view of her own viewpoint, a rather low of ours. But, that is not what we should focus on."

"No, it isn't." Mary agreed, swallowing down laughter at the audacity of the Medici woman attempting espionage. "That is not the woman we know, it cannot be."

"It cannot." Francis agreed. "So, if she's not dead, where is she?"

"And what on earth is she up to?"

"We've received intelligence from Spain." Francis revealed.

"Oh?" Mary asked. Spain and Italy were fierce Catholics, Italy being a close ally for France and in ways, the empire. Spain was a close ally, hand in glove in some areas of ruling, especially with the marriage of Princess Elisabeth of Valois-Angoulême to King Phillip of Spain. Some attempts at alliance had been made over the past several months. But, negotiations with Spain had turned sour ever since Mary focused on tolerance in the second month of her English reign. An illogical war against Protestants had been started by fierce Catholics, lead by themselves by Spain. And they hated the tolerance that Mary and Francis showed them.

"Yes," Francis nodded. "They say a woman with copper curls and mink boots walks towards Spanish Court on a daily basis, anger in her wake." he said.

Mary chuckled. "So, it's her. What else can we expect from her?"

"I don't know. But, if a woman with her knowledge walks towards her daughter and son-in-law, vengeance for both you and me in her mind, she could start a war. You know she will, and that is the last thing we want." Francis said.

Mary knew he was right. With the Empire starting to flourish under joint rule, another heir on the way and a strong heir waiting to take the throne, their countries had never been stronger. France prospered under Mary's Empire, new trade roots and gold settling a previously penniless and plague torn country. They both prospered in this new 'golden age' of tolerance and money, nobody wishing to change it, even if some wished for Catholics or Protestants to be eliminated. They got on for the greater good, something Mary was rather proud of achieving in her short life and reign.

However, it hadn't all been sunshine and rainbows. Mary had had to lead both her Empire and France into many battles over the years. She herself had fought on the front line, leading a new female revolution, that going side by side with her new political revolution. It had been horrible. A short war with Germany and a quick squabble within France itself, for both sides to fight it out until they exhausted themselves, before proper negotiations could occur.

The German battle had been quite pointless. Protestant Germany and it's Protestant King had simply disliked a Catholic Queen of two countries and the imminence of a Catholic Regent and a Catholic King. They had attacked the border at the same time Elizabeth started to attack Scotland in retaliation of Mary's pregnancy. Intellect from Marie de Guise and Mary Stuart had crushed England's attempted stink and a short, sharp battle had tired out the German-French soldiers. The negotiations in that room had been tense and icy from both sides, finally finding common ground after eight days of bickering back and forth.

The French war was even more pointless. Stupidly Catholic Lords had risen a stink at the tolerance Mary showed, and Ignorantly Protestant subjects had risen up in retaliation. Mary had allowed two weeks of squabbling, before literally smacking them on a wrist like a stern governess and a stubborn, ignorant child. That was what Mary verbally compared them to, before she berated their ignorance and stupidity for fighting and gave them a stern telling off. Then, she sat down the main leaders and forced them to talk. They weren't let out until the yelling stopped and the talking started to get easier to do. Then, a mighty fine patriotic speech had been given, and since then, France had been quite willing to cooperate for their Queen.

England and Scotland had gone into a little hissy fight just after Mary took the throne and had sat on eight for around nine weeks. The border absolutely despising each other for many years, coming to gunpowder and blades for a few weeks, before their mistress took charge of that situation. She and the main leader of the opposing sides had given and took in their negotiations, finally ending the bad blood between the two countries once and for all. Of course, there was always going to be a baseline dislike, that would never change for centuries. But, alliance had always been better than war on all sides.

An almost instantaneous battle against Navarre had gone on at a similar time, almost immediately after. The Bourbons had attempted to siege the castle just after Mary took England, attempting to kill her and James and take France for themselves. Their ally, the Protestant Joseph Tudor being the one who was almost placed on the British throne. Of course, it had never came to that. French Forces and English had crushed the attempted usurpers and the Bourbons had signed away their claim when the risk of Lois of Conde's head being removed from his shoulders had been put on the table for King Antoine. After that, he was more than content to enter an alliance with the Empress and Regent.

Good Lord, what fun Francis had missed out on his Italian holiday.

Blinking out of her memories of battle, Mary focused on said blonde haired Frenchman. He was talking, making Mary not believe he saw her temporary zone out.

"I truly believe she's going to Phillip. Expose our secrets and vulnerabilities, start a war to teach us a lesson for not listening to her. Well, me." he said.

"Why would she do such a thing? Catherine adores you, you are and always have been her favourite child. She wouldn't hurt you."

"Wouldn't she? I effectively banished her." Francis chuckled humorlessly.

"She still adores you. She would move heaven and earth to make you happy. If she'll go after anybody, it will be me. She resents me for taking the French throne, ruling in your absence. Taking James away from her and turning your mind against her."

"You did not. I used my own mind, I thought my own thoughts. She can't blame you for that."

"She can, and she will. Catherine has always hated me, you know that. There's a reason she told you to claim your son after returning, forgave so quick after you came back. Let Lola come to Scotland, child in towe. There's a reason why she tried to turn Lords in her favour. Because she hates me."

Francis said nothing. Just turned away.

"I cannot blame her for thinking the way she does. She thinks that is genuinely how things should go between King and Queen. They taught you to think the same. The Queen births and raises the children, the King finds love with his mistress and adores his bastards. The King and Queen hate each other but rule well together. That is genuinely how she thinks, how she thinks it should go. I cannot blame her for that, she was sold to your father and country, saw the way your grandfather treated his second wife with mistresses and bastards. She endured your father with Diane and Bash, whomever caught Henry's eye at the time, even Kenna at one point. That is genuinely how she thinks it should be, she's became attuned to it. And now that you do not act as they did-" Mary paused.

"She thinks it's wrong, tries to change it."

"Precisely. What she's done in the past is because of how she thinks and because of who she loves. You, most of all." Mary cupped Francis' cheek. He leaned into her touch. From inside her, the baby squirmed suddenly. Mary became uncomfortable and lay back on the settee, resting her legs on Francis' lap.

"What of you?"

"I am nothing to her. Nothing but a temporary alliance to secure her own power and standing when we thought you were gone. Now that I have you back, she'll go back to the Catherine she always was. Madame Le Serpente. The one who hates me and would do anything to have you in her back pocket, ripping the world apart because she loves you." Mary listed off. Her words held no animosity to the former Queen, just acceptance.

There was a time when Mary pined for Catherine's love more than anything. As a child, a little five year old all alone on foreign soil, mysterious and enchanting and different. One who had never known the love of a mother and the adoration of a father in her homeland, and who hoped to find love in France. She did, but with her betrothed and his siblings. Not with the King and Queen of France. The only parental influence she found was a cold mother and an absent enigma of a father, who doted on his mistress and bastard and neglected his heir and wife simply because they were not who he loved.

But, that was okay.

Because she had Francis. And that made everything okay.

"Let's not talk more of this, I am sure Bash and Leith will have plenty to talk to us of my mother tomorrow. For now, my only responsibility is to care for my pregnant wife."

Mary smiled softly.

How she loved him.


	21. Chapter 21

_"We are gathered here today to assume the guilty or innocence of this Lady. You are hereby charged with adultery, being seduced by the devil and high treason, all punishable by death. How do you plead?"_

_"Not guilty, my lord."_

_"My lords, it is time to pass judgement."_

_"Guilty."_

_"Guilty."_

_"Guilty."_

_"Guilty."_

_"Guilty."_

_"Guilty."_

_"Guilty."_

_"Guilty."_

_"Guilty."_

_"My lady, at dawn, tomorrow morning, you will be sentenced to death by beheading. Take her away!"_

_"No, no, please! Stop this, please! I'm sorry! No!"_

_Cheers. Deafening, blood lusty cheers. _

_"Enter the traitor!"_

_The squeak of a gate. Pounding footsteps._

_"Lady Lola Flemming. You are guilty of high treason against our sovereign Lady, Mary of the house of Stuart, first of her name, Empress Regnant of Scotland, England, Wales and Ireland, Queen Consort of France, Duchess of Anjou, Edinburgh and Lorraine. Do you have any last words as you stand before your Empress and your God?"_

_"I am sorry, Mary, please! Do not do this, please! No!" was screamed. "Protect my son, tell him I love him! Tell him everyday!"_

_The rise and fall of an axe._

_Blood._

_Punishment._

Mary awoke with a gasp. Startled, she snapped up, taking in a large, shaky breath as she looked over the darkened bedroom. Mary inhaled sharply, three times. Shakily, she drew in another breath, swallowing thickly, looking all over the room once more. It was dark, no fire lit, no candles burning.

"What is it?" Francis murmured sleepily next to her. "Is it the baby?" he asked, voice gruff and gristly.

"No, no. I'm fine. We're fine." Mary assured, placing a hand on her twenty seven week old bump. Under her hand, she felt a strong kick, relaxing her instantly. "Just a strange dream." Mary finished. He opened his eyes.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, they've been happening. I'm alright." Mary nodded a few times.

Such strange dreams for seven weeks. Tonight, Lola's execution, the Lady she hadn't seen in six weeks, much to her pleasure. Last night, Kenna's birth to her second child. The night before, Greer and James' wedding. The night before that, Francis' death in a forest.

"What was it about?" Francis asked, slowly sitting up, placing a hand on the kicking and turning unborn baby that was housed safely in her womb, as if trying to settle it.

"Leith." Mary lied. Francis frowned. "He and Greer got married, in this Court." Mary lied.

"This one?" Francis frowned. "How bizarre. Leith's never set foot in English Court." he added. Mary didn't want to tell him she lied. Well, it wasn't exactly a lie. She had had that dream, but six days ago. It was a little silly, however. Leith had never stepped foot in English Court, like Francis had said. Only around the country when he was doing business for Mary, desperate to get away from France after Claude's death.

And the fact that Leith and Greer hadn't been together since three weeks before James was born.

Plus, Lady Castleroy was already married, to Lord Castleroy.

"Yes, but Dame Amelia says that odd dreams are common with pregnancy. Don't worry." Mary tried to assure. She didn't want to tell him she'd dreamt Lola's death. And really didn't want to admit that one sick part of her wanted to see it again, to admit that it was somewhat satisfying to watch. Even if it was simply in a dream form.

Plus, he had gotten his second letter from Lola a few days ago, just after they had decamped from Edinburgh to London. She had told him of their son and how well he was doing, how relaxed and not angry he was. How he constantly asked for his father and eagerly awaited his next letter or visit. How he accepted Killian as his step father, but would not let his own father be replaced by him. There was even a small, squiggly drawing resembling a spider at the end, from said child himself.

Neither had talked about it, but knew it effected the King of France more than he'd let on. They both knew that Francis wished to physically see his boy, not just hear from him. But, with Mary's pregnancy progressing quickly and the issue of Catherine de Medici still unresolved, things were simply more important than John at this time. Not that Francis liked it, however.

However, Mary was well aware that now, she and James and the baby came before even France and the troubles with Catherine de Medici. On the days that he was especially sweet, taking them for picnics before it got too cold, strolling around the gardens or spending the day helping James build a small toy for his new brother or sister, Mary drempt of happier things. Their wedding, their happier times in France, the bliss of their wedding tour. But, most noticeably of all, the first time they met. The first time they met as children.

_Francois de Valois waited patiently next to his mother and father, the entire court behind them, eagerly awaiting the little Queen of Scots' arrival. She'd been on a boat for many weeks, on a carriage for as many hours, making Francois' eagerness to attain a playmate grow and grow. It just so happened she was to be his wife._

_After a few minutes standing in the bright sunlight, Francois finally saw a carriage pull up in the courtyard. He felt a smile pull his lips up, as the footman jumped down from the back and brought the brown leather box, guards on brown stallions in silver and tartan guarding the carriage well, another carriage pulling up behind the first, Scottish guards on horses leading it and a pure white stallion._

_There was an audible intake of breath as the curtain was sweeped into place and the door was unlocked, before opened, and the footman reached inside. Francois beamed as he saw long, pale and thin fingers wrap around the satin glove of the footman. He looked up at the hand as it came outside, covered in a signet ring, jewelled rings on the other fingers, and a bracelet that was made of twisted gold and emeralds. A pale gold satin triangular heel popped out of the carriage, closely followed by a sea of gold satin skirts. He held his breath as slowly, the five year old Queen of Scotland came outside her carriage and stepped out onto French soil for the first time. There was an audible gasp as the little girl came into complete view._

_She was very beautiful. The child was tall, adding to the appearance of her age. She had long black curls that trailed down past her corset that shimmered in the sunlight, the lighter black -almost dark golden- sections more noticeably against the darker sections. Her eyes were a beautiful golden that faded into a bright green. She was slim and had snowy, pale skin, high cheekbones and plump lips that stood out with the dark pink rouge the wore on them, eyes accentuated with her long eyelashes painted a dark raven._

_Her gown was a beautiful shade of gold satin. A bardot cut exposed her neck, shoulders and chest and gold satin clung to her arms tightly. She wore a tight gold bodice with gold lace on the top hemline, soft embroidery under that, small rubies and emeralds in the intricate embellishments. Her skirt was wide, hiding layers upon layers of underskirts, a long train of gold satin behind her. Vine-like embroidery covered the section of her skirt over her legs, two inches above the bottom hemline having matching embroidery and small jewels, going all across the front of the skirt and over the train in a long inch and a half tall rectangle. On the crooks of her elbows and across her back was a shawl of gold velvet, on top of it was a matching long cape of velvet and silk embroidery._

_On the Queen's head she wore a tall crown of intricately twisted gold with large pale emeralds along the bottom, around the middle and the top, three larger and the darkest emeralds standing tall on the very top of the crown. She wore long chandelier earrings on each ear, two teal coloured emeralds on the lobe, a bright emerald holding together a large half circle of intricate twisted gold, before a dark emerald shone on the bottom, moving softly with the wind. A matching large necklace was across her chest, her rings matching the gold and emerald colour scheme._

_She had a regal posture about her, an aura of royalty and an intimidating ambience around her, Francois could tell, even from being quite a few feet away from her. Her raised chin emitted her courageous and fearless aura._

_Francois smiled. He wasn't sure what to expect when he saw the Queen of Scots, but seeing her now, she was perfect._

_The young boys' dialogue was obvious in his eyes. And, when the two orbs met for the first time, they both knew exactly what the other was thinking._

_And both knew that they would get along just fine._

Francis opened his mouth to reply, but the doors to their chambers opened. Well, one of them did. And a little body came rushing towards them at lightning speed.

"Mama! Papa!" the boy squealed in delight, launching himself on top of the bed, giggling.

"Hello, you." Francis grinned. The boy was adorably mischievous. Nobody could get irritated at his antics. "Did you run from Madame Alante and Dame Rose again?" he asked, referring to the nursemaids they had for him that night.

"Yes." he admitted. "They were sleeping still. Didn't wake them up." he shrugged a shoulder, making himself comfortable on Francis' lap as he turned to his mother, eyes shining bright at the thought of being with them.

"Hi, mama." James reached over to his mothers' growing bump. "Hello brother!" he smiled. Mary's smile was as bright as the not yet risen sun, touching both of her ears practically. The boy was so sweet and caring it brought tears to her eyes, even more so since she was pregnant.

She wiped her eyes, pretending to rub them.

"Are you sleepy, mama?"

"Yes, love."

"Why don't you go back to sleep with us?" Francis asked, enjoying the boys' smile.

"Can I? Can I?" he repeated, starting to jiggle in excitement.

"You can, little one." Francis helped him fall to one side, safely on the bed and pillows. "Just be careful and don't cause trouble."

"Won't, Papa." James promised, his voice little and sweet and diluted with tiredness. Mary felt her own eyelids get heavy with fatigue. She closed them happily, feeling two hands across her body. A large, substantial one wrapped around her own fingers. A tiny, nimble set resting carefully on her stomach.

_"The French left you to the wolves. They left you, a queen of three countries, in a convent. No protection. No anything. You were held captive for years by the English, and they allowed it. How can you defend them?" their captor hissed._

_"They did indeed to all those things. However, Timothy, the English attack on the convent left all but me dead. They usually wish to take responsibility for their actions, but why would they risk international war, to get something they had wanted for years?_

_"Not at all," she smirked. He went to punch her, but she casually rolled out of the way. "Is that all you're going to throw at me? If it is, I'm disappointed," she complained slightly, walking almost casually. "Now, down to business," she said casually, snapping her bonds with ease. "You've taken those I care for hostage. I have a problem with that. No matter your motives, these people will go back to where they belong, and you will suffer for this treasonous act."_

_"You figured out a way to get free." he observed._

_"Of course I did. A little trick I learned when the English kidnapped me from a Brecon fortress. Simply burn the ropes and they will fall whenever you please," she smirked. "You left us alone, without binding our feet. It made my job so easy. Child's play, really." she nodded once._

_"You really think I wouldn't have a plan for when your facade comes into play?" he grinned, reaching behind him, pulling out the handle of a blade. Mary smirked, reaching behind her own body and onto one of the chairs, bringing up the actual blade. He scowled. She smirked wider, raising her eyebrows in challenge._

_"Goodness, is killing you going to take all night?" he asked, irritated._

_"More than likely so," she smiled. "Are you busy?" she questioned as they started to circle each other._

_"Not at all," he grinned. He walked in circles with the young queen, grabbing an arbalest from underneath a gold and red silk pillow. He went to fire, but nothing happened. Mary chuckled, pulling out three arrows from the arm of an overstuffed chair._

_"Impressive for a child, I will admit." he nodded once. "You noticed?" he asked._

_"Of course I did. I've had to do a lot of that to keep my head over my reign," Mary narrowed her eyes as he let the gun fall to the floor. She did the same with her arrows, not looking at her fellow captives as she walked slowly over to the man, watching as he stared into her eyes, before reaching into the bowl of apples, pears and strawberries, bringing out a dagger and throwing it. Mary quickly reached into her belt and pulled out her own, throwing it, listening as the silver crashed into each other and fell to the ground with a 'clunk'._

_"It's all very good, your way of doing things, I will admit. And this has surprised me, majesty. I didn't realise one would use my own weapons against me. You've even used fire to your advantage," he noticed, looking down at the burned rope on the floor. " But now, it's my turn." he brought a small hand cannon and aimed it at Mary and Francis, whom she was standing near in their circling. Catherine screamed and Timothy yelled in frustration, as Mary mockingly dangled the piece of rope he needed to burn close to her face._

_"Nice try," she threw it carelessly behind her and they circles again, this time getting closer and closer._

_"It is clear that your problem is with the Scottish Queen! Please, at least let my son go!" Catherine begged. Mary inwardly cursed. The woman was idiotic._

_"Calm yourself, all you are is collateral damage, no harm will come to you. Again, you won't risk international war just to irritate me." Mary addressed Catherine and Timothy._

_"What do you want with us?" Henry demanded._

_"Nothing from you, something from my queen." Henry looked at Catherine. "What? Don't you remember me?"_

_"What are you talking about?"_

_"A shame," he pouted. "I remembered you."_

_"The battle of Oueatreaux, the general of the fifth wave suddenly was captured. Much like me, by the English. This is what they were building. My would-be assassin. This way, he would want to kill me, but the English would face no repercussions as this man is a Scot."_

_"Very clever." they stopped, face to face, nose almost touching nose. "I'm all yours, sweet girl." He leaned forwards. Mary chuckled and reached into his mouth, pulling out a small and sharp glass vial filled with a bright yellow-orange substance._

_"Very clever." Mary mocked, throwing it behind her again. It clinked and rolled on the floor."You know, you have made one very big mistake." Mary whispered, as they were still close._

_"And what's that?" he chuckled._

_"You let me talk." she said, pulling his own sword from his belt and sheathing it into his chest, right above his heart. He instantly choked and fell to his knees, blood spilling from his mouth, his soul leaving his body before his chest hit the floor. Mary looked down at him coldly, not one emotion in her eyes or on her face._

_Slowly, she brought the blade from his chest and brought the blood covered blade from the body, holding it high, before turning and effortlessly snapping the French's bonds._

_**Kick.**_

Mary smiled down at her growing bump, encased lightly in a thin gown of cream lace that accentuated her growing figure. Said bump was cradled gently in slightly swollen fingers and hands, popping out more than usual in the soft material. Raven curls fell down her waist as the young, resplendent Empress adored her unborn child. Her left hand cradled the underside of it, the right gently running over the material, enjoying the feeling of her child kicking and squirming in response to it's mothers gentle touch and the end of her soothing melody. She whispered words of love in her mother tongue, comforted by the sensation of her unborn baby moving inside of her.

The Empress had always suited pregnancy. Never putting on noticeable weight, waist and hips plumping for the child, then snapping back when said child was born. Her breasts were bigger, swollen due to imminent milk, but according to Francis, they were -if possible- even more beautiful. Her bump was never overly big, simply a noticeable bulge that couldn't be mistaken for anything other than pregnancy. Her skin glowed, a smile barely ever off her face, her hair was glossier and thicker, the onyx locks longer, as well as her nails. Mary enjoyed every moment of pregnancy, and this was no different.

Mary walked over towards the large window, settling her weight upon it, staring out at the beautiful English countryside. They had retreated from London to Sherborne a few days prior, and the scenery was breathtaking. The ride was long and dreary, but Mary had been getting a little too anxious in the town for her midwives liking, so to the peaceful south they went. Francis had obeyed the midwives even more than he did his own father, even if he was a King himself. It had became apparent since Nostradamus told him of Mary's conception that she and their unborn and born child were the most important things to him -on par with France-, and he couldn't risk them for anything. If Mary was anxious and stressed, then so were James and their unborn baby, and he couldn't allow that. Besides, they still ruled well in the smaller castle and still held court there, it wasn't that different from anything else.

Not as beautiful as her homeland, but beautiful nonetheless, Mary silently admitted, watching the pretty scene in front of her unwind. She watched the trees sway and waltz in a tune all their own, heard the echoing cries of birds and wolves, how the bushes provided a counter beat to the cheering Englishmen in the distance and the serene rustles of growing crops. She could see the faint glows from torches that illuminated small villages in the horizon, she could smell the ash from the fires and the salt of whatever was being roasted for dinner. She could smell the sweet flowers in the courtyard and the confectionery being prepared in the kitchens. She could hear the laughs from her people and allowed the few moments of peace in an otherwise hectic life to wash over her, relieving her of all the stress she faced in the life of an Empress.

She looked beautiful, as Francis repeatedly told her. Wearing a gown of cream lace that left her shoulders exposed, a few inches of lace on either bicep holding it up, her arms bare. Now at almost thirty one weeks pregnant, the crisp English air was a little colder now, so a cape of cream fur hung from her elbows, trailing behind her for a foot and a half. The lace hugged and accentuated her bump, lightly resting upon it, drawing attention to it, as all expectant mothers who were rulers had to do when they grew with child. The lace hung lightly over her legs, a mixture of chiffon and the satin slip she wore underneath providing a somewhat pleasurable sensation around her sometimes stiff legs. Flat satin shoes were hidden underneath her gown, providing her with even more comfort. Mary hated wearing court heels. Although they were pretty, they hurt her feet when she had to stand for hours at a time. Plus, her feet tended to swell in pregnancy, and stern midwives immediately removed all her heels and corsets when they were informed by Nostradamus of the Queen of France's conception.

The pregnant Empress was covered in the jewels that fitted someone of her station. Although politics were slow around the Empire and France at this time of the year -post the height of the harvest when working men and women's bellies were full- there were still a lot of it to get through, seeing as though she had to rule over five countries simultaneously, not just one. A thin bandeau diadem hung from her flowing locks, light enough to be comfortable to wear -and she hated being draped in jewels in pregnancy anyway- but big enough to let everybody know who she was. As usual, chandelier earrings fell from her ears. Mary couldn't get out of that one -Kenna always insisting that she don them even when pregnant, even doing so as a pregnant woman herself- so they settled on a smaller pair of golden sets with small diamonds and a pearl hanging at each end. A dainty chain of gold hung from her neck, a strawberry sized diamond hanging from it -once again, Kenna- and her fingers were adorned in equally as dainty gold and diamond rings. They were slightly swollen and Mary hated to be donned in uncomfortable, heavy jewels when it made life a little harder than need be. Her hair fell in curls, soft ringlets falling down past her hips -longer thanks to the pregnancy- and some sections were lightly braided back from her face, a small pearl adoring each twist.

It was evening now, a sacred few moments before James came for tea and cakes with his father, their usual proper family time before the parents had to go back to ruling again, when Mary simply got to enjoy the time she had with her unborn child. As much as she adored her son and loved her husband and ladies, it was nice to have a few moments of peace and serenity with the little person who depended on her more than an empire did.

As if hearing his or her mothers' thoughts, the child gave a swift kick. Mary smiled down at her bump again, her eyes falling from the beautiful autumnal English countryside down to something equally as beautiful. She cupped her bump again, her fingertips quick enough to feel the indents of a small, growing foot.

_I love you,_ Mary thought, knowing the silent phrase would travel down to her child.

"Mama!" a voice cried with joy. Mary turned from the window to the door, seeing Francis come in with James on his hip, the latter twisting and squirming in joy at seeing her for the first time today.

"My love." Mary smiled to both of them, walking over to Francis. He stopped and allowed James to lean and kiss his mother, before waving to the bump she sported.

"Hello, mama!" he giggled. "Hello, brother!" James smiled wide. Mary's heart melted as a tiny hand found her bump, rubbing it a little. James seemed so excited for his new sibling, a stark contrast to his reaction to his other sibling who lived not four days ride from where they were now.

"Aren't you sweet today," Mary noticed, placing a hand on his hair, stroking back the silky soft strands.

He let out a sound that resembled a giggle. Mary smiled at him, adoring his sweetness and his cuteness.

"Should we eat?" Francis spoke up from enjoying his view of the mother-son interaction.

"Yay! Look!" James pointed to the door that just squeaked open, revealing several servants carrying pots of freshly brewed tea and trays of cakes and biscuits. "Look!" he repeated, his eyes instantly locking onto his favourite cake, a sweet sponge cut in half, held together by a layer of sweet and thick whipped cream and chopped strawberries, the same chopped berries laying inside the sweet substance and laying on top, dusted with powdered sugar.

Mary watched as they lay their treats down, before slowly taking her place at the table. Now, it was her turn to enjoy the interaction between Francis and James, smiling as they laughed with each other, quietly sipping her tea and eating whatever small pastry was on her silver plate. It was satisfying to see them now, seeing now far they'd came from not that long ago. Now, it seemed like James had known his father his entire life, enjoying his company and presence when just a few months ago, he couldn't stand it. Mary adored them both.

A quick knock echoed throughout the room. Mary turned from her smile towards her husband and son and towards the door, watching as Sara poked her head inside the room.

"Imperial Majesty, aunt. Uncle James, Earl of Moray, the Earl of Montin and Baron Sebastian de Portiers request an immediate audience with your Majesties, aunt, uncle." Sara rambled, in a mix of respect and familiarity.

Uh oh. Mary thought. Whenever Bash, Leith and Bash wished to speak with her and Francis without Kenna with them, it was important. Political and important.

"Very well." Mary replied. "Take the Prince, have him put in the nursery with the Baroness de Portiers and Lady Castleroy."

"Very well, aunt. Shall I take them to Princess Odette de Valois, Lady Meredith de Portiers, Lady Rose and Lord George Castleroy, aunt?"

"With their mothers, yes." Mary instructed, swallowing down the sadness she felt when James started refusing his cousin's arms as she picked him up.

"No, no, mama! Papa! No!"

"I'm sorry, my Prince. Mama and I will come and see you later." Francis said as the door opened, taking away James and Sara and bringing in James Stewart, Leith Bayard and Sebastian de Portiers.

"What is it?" Francis asked, standing up. Mary said nothing, just watched their bows as the candlelight glittered along her pretty face, one hand finding it's way to her mouth, a nervous habit from childhood she'd picked up after her fifth month of conception with her second child. News for Catherine de Medici, who had been confirmed to not be in France and confirmed not to be dead, had been scarce, something everybody knew was worse than having a ton of news about her. A silent Catherine was usually more deadly than a present Catherine.

"Francis, our sister Elisabeth, the Queen of Spain has written."

"What does she say?"

"One of the working girls stationed in Spain, Mathilde, told her what we wanted her to know of Catherine. She is repulsed by your mothers' actions, doesn't understand how in Catherine's mind, she's doing the right thing. By you or any of her children. She offers help in resolving these issues, since she'd heard of the trail of outrage this 'woman' has left in her wake in Spain. But her husband-" Bash trialled off.

"Hates me." Mary finished, speaking up after many minutes of silence. "He mistrusts me because I am female, wishes for you to be the main ruler here, not I. He hates a female having power, blood written power." Mary added, glancing at Francis.

"You are right, Majesty." Leith said. Mary gave him a look. "Mary." he amended. Mary smiled a little, nodding for him to go on. "He respects a Catholic holding power, but not a female. Even more so you, since you rule over France with Francis." Mary looked over at Francis, who seemed to be deep in concentration. "He is angered that your Empire rivals his own, mistrusts you since your power and popularity grows every day. Plus, the issues with sir Francis Drake have unsettled him. But, he is known for disliking any female monarch, simply you more than the rest." Leith added.

"And Catherine is there."

"She doesn't say so, but the letter takes time to get here, I have no doubt something had happened after that." Bash tried.

"Well, what do we do about this?"

"We can't really do anything. She's not really a French subject, even though she is the Queen mother. She's Italian, she only answers to the King of Italy. In addition, we can't go barging into Spain, Phillip would use that as grounds for war, he's trying to find an excuse, as you know."

Mary silently nodded.

"We have the Queen of Spain on our side, that much is obvious." James finally talked. "But, she is merely Queen Consort, they have no children yet, she has no real power in Spain. Phillip has all the power, and he is known to be manipulative."

"She's a Valois. She's strong willed." Francis almost snapped. The two had never gotten on, and it hadn't helped by recent events.

"I don't doubt it, but if Queen Elisabeth's on our side, it won't take Phillip long to realise and start to change this. And, if Catherine is there, she will feed him what she knows of both of you, your weaknesses, your countries' weaknesses." James replied.

Mary stood from her chair and took a few steps away from them, back to the window, as if seaking solace from this situation. "So, what do we do? How do we stop this?"

"All we can do is send word to Elisabeth, make sure she has her husband not believe a word Catherine says. Perhaps we can send Sir Drake over to Spanish waters again, with the addition of our French Pirate allies." Mary and Bash gave Francis a look, still more than a tad confused about his odd decision to ally himself and France with the pirate Martine and the man's flock of pirates. "Nab her whilst Phillip is distracted, by perhaps a mock battle, Elisabeth could help with that. Maybe get her over to the safety of France, then to England, where we can ally ourselves with our sister officially." Bash went on. "Since we won't be going to France, or travelling, anytime soon." he glanced down at Mary's growing bump, in which she had placed a protective hand over. She knew Catherine would never hurt her grandchild -she'd proved that with James- but if her words to Phillip -infused by odd anger and jealousy- started a war between them, there was every possibility that James and this child would be one of the main targets.

She gulped, starting to not listen as Francis, James, Leith and Bash plotted about this whole Catherine ordeal.

Nerves burned in her stomach, but it was worse than that.

_The woman lay in bed. She couldn't move. Something was wrong. Something was wrong._

_Pain...Such incredible pain. A pain like she'd never felt before. It was incomparable to any sickness or injury she'd ever had._

_Mary doubled over, a small groan of pain leaving her lips. She felt the urge to vomit the dinner she'd eaten just mere minutes previously. Her breath was nearly lost from the pain._

_"Ugh." She breathed, a shuddering breath mixing in with the groan. She scrunched her face in a small grimace, lightly trembling from the pain. Her teeth clenched, and a bead of sweat dripped down her face._

_She clutched her stomach, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with her. The pain simultaneously drew her organs together and ripped them apart, coming in waves. Pain, then incomparable pain. Stars could be seen every time she closed her eyes._

_"Ugh." She whimpered, feeling her stomach lurch again. Trying to settle the nausea, she breathed in and out in short, sharp breaths._

_"Oh my god." she mewed, running a hand through her sweat laden hair. Mary was clueless about what was wrong with her. The only thing she could think of it being close to was the worst menstural cramps she'd ever had in her life. But, that was impossible._

_Her stomach lurched violently again and she shot up, the pain doubling. Unable to quiet the cry she let out, she threw back the blankets in a attempt to get up to regurgitate._

_That's when she noticed it._

_The blood._

_"No!" Mary screamed out, unable to not do so. The blood covered the sheets, in a long patch from side to side. More than when Catherine had given birth to Charles when Mary was a child and they'd seen the mess. More than when Sebastian had been stabbed by the English in an attempt to save Scotland from said country. More than any she'd seen before._

_"Help me! Please!" She cried out to nobody in particular, but it was worth a shot. She looked in between her legs again and noticed the sickening trail of bright red blood, two inches horizontal, flowing down her legs and inner thighs. Her heart rate and pulse forcing the blood out faster. Another clot of blood pumped out steadily every time her heart beat._

_Drawing in a long breath, a high pitched wine of agony leaving her lips as the tears started to flow, more scared than she'd been in her life. Crawling over to the side of the bed, not caring about the dull, intense pain in her knee, as she physically couldn't hurt it any more, she reached for it, holding out a hand for the white vase to throw at the wall, to alert the guards who somehow hadn't heard her, but a intense dropping pain forced a scream from her lips._

_It was as if someone had taken a huge rock, jammed it behind her rib cage, and let it drop, falling out of her, breaking everything in it's path. Unable to stop, she placed her head in the small pot near the bed and regurgitated due to the intense pain._

She remembered that pain. That pain had been with her for almost four years. She'd never forgotten that pain.

**Her stomach.**

Why did her stomach hurt so much?

_"Presentando a su Majestad, Catalina de la casa de Medici, Reina Madre de Francia." _the herald cried. Confidently, in walked an older woman with copper curls. Her gown was dark green chiffon, the heat of the Spanish autumn impressive and stifling. She wore a crown of gold and emeralds, the tiny figure walking confidently over towards the two golden thrones.

She curtseyed a little, observing the dark haired, dark eyed, olive skinned, King in regal red and gold. His crown was impressive and large, livery collar sparkling in the bright sun peeking through the windows. His chin was high, his posture regal.

She looked over towards his wife and Queen. She smiled brightly at Princess Elisabeth Valois, her eldest legitimate daughter. The Queen Consort of Spain was donned in a white, light gown with blue roses embroidered over it, a silver tiara glistening on her dark hair. Dark green eyes glistened, much like Sebastian's. However, there was love in those eyes, but much more uncertainty and mistrust.

"Queen Catherine, how delightful to officially meet my mother in law for the first time, somebody so legendary." King Phillip said, voice thick with his Spanish accent.

"Thank you, your Majesty. I am honoured to lay eyes on one so powerful in this world." Catherine began, ever the diplomat.

"May I help your Majesty? Or do you wish to see your delightful daughter, my wife and Queen?"

"As wonderful as it is to lay eyes on my child once again, I must admit that it is not. I can help you, highness."

"And how is that?"

"By offering you something you and I both wish for."

"And what is that?"

"The end of the reign of Mary Stuart."


	22. Chapter 22

Francis had always been protective of her, Mary had always been aware. Even when they were little children, Mary always understood that he was protective, even if he didn't want to get on with her at first. The little Dauphin had learned from the example of his father, that wives were for heirs and mistresses were for loving. Only after a stern -and a very rare one at that- scolding from the Queen of France did the young heir start warming up to that beautiful, mysterious siren with pretty golden eyes and long black locks.

The first example of that was when Mary was sparring with Sebastian, even though the former was eight and the latter holding a mere five years to her life. But, all bar six days of that life had been completed as a Queen, so they were more than even. The latter had seen Mary hold a blade in her hand many times, Bash warming up to her long before her future husband did. Even at that point, he was only starting to like her and her company, whilst Bash immediately took to her like a duck to water.

Said Bastard born son of the King of France had struck a little too hard, Mary's reflexes a little too slow. One blow had knocked her off her feet, a little cut under her eye and a few small bruises on her arms and legs -she'd fallen on particularly hard stones- and the young Dauphin was introduced to a rage that he'd never known before. He had yelled and shoved his Bastard half brother back, before turning to help his future bride to her feet, watching worriedly as blood splattered against the pretty pink lace gown she wore. He hadn't missed it, nor had he missed the small, amazed smile on her face. The Queen of Scots wasn't a stranger to the frailty of the fair haired Dauphin of France, after all.

The next time had been when the duo had been climbing up and down one of the larger oak trees of the courtyard. They had been with the young Princess' of France, along with the King's beloved Bastard and the Queen's recently arrived ladies in waiting, a much needed dose of happiness since the death of baby Louis not four months previous. They had climbed up and down as easy as it was to walk up and down the hallways of the French Court, until one of the stronger branches had snapped, taking the Queen of Scotland down an almost eight feet drop. He had yelled out her name, only for the aforementioned Queen to simply laugh off her pain, get up from the floor, dust of her dress and wipe the blood from her face and the leaves from her dress and hair and go right back to climbing. Said ladies didn't seem so concerned, knowing full well the Queen's tolerance for pain and her eagerness for adrenaline and adventure, but Francis had worried for her for almost a week afterwards.

There had been many more times after that, a horse running too fast or jumping too high, a fever taking too long to break or a hiding place taking too long to be found, but the second most notable time had been when an Englishman had been found under Mary's bed, a blade in his hand, malicious intent in his eyes. Clearly, the English King's regent hadn't recovered from the fact that the Scottish privy council hadn't changed their mind on Mary's ended engagement with the young Edward Tudor. The man was well hidden, slowly climbing up onto the Queen of Scotland's bed hours after she'd fallen into a slumber.

Her young puppy, Sterling, had awoken before his mistress, a sharp intake of breath startling her out of her slumber, finding an assassin straddling the bed, a sword raised high above his head. Her screams and Sterling's howls had alerted the guards outside and awoken the two Princesses and Prince of France inside the bedchambers. Adrenaline and fear had given her superhuman strength, holding the blade from her throat for long enough to allow the guards to rush inside the room and stop the slight scrap between Queen and enemy.

Francis could remember how she'd shook in his arms as the King and Queen of France stormed into the room, finding the screaming, beaten Englishman and the frightened children. His arms were clamped around her little body so tightly that she'd remained at French Court, instead of being shipped off to a convent in the north of the country, like his mother had wished.

For weeks, Mary had feared monsters under the bed, a terrifying childish fear being magnified into that of a Queen. And, months after, Mary had berated herself for being so weak from fear, scolding herself at every given moment, remedying her self hatred by larger jumps on her favourite Scottish stallion, more intense training sessions with her Scottish governor and more borderline foolish risks in their childish adventures. Even then, Francis had worried for her, but never more than when a second blade-armed assassin had slipped through the walls of French court.

This time, Mary hadn't been so lucky. It had been in braud daylight, this time. They'd tussled for the blade, Francis and his sisters and one year old new brother yelling for the guards. But, the guards hadn't came. They lay drugged outside the door. It had been a walking-close-by King to rescue his children, this time. But, the King wasn't quick enough to save the Scottish Queen from a blade through her abdomen. He'd walked into the room to find a choked-out assassin and a crying Dauphin, clinging to the hand of his beloved future wife.

She had been coughing up blood, a blade sticking from the bodice of her dress, the golden gown quickly turning a deep crimson. She'd held onto consciousness just long enough to see him storm into the room, before her eyes rolled backwards in her head. Francis and Claude and Elisabeth had started screaming louder, wailing so bloodcurdlingly in a way Henry himself had never heard before when her limp body was taken away from them by Nostradamus. The finest physicians in the country had been summoned, assisting their future Queen in her physical injuries.

Said girl was lucky enough to have her personal, Henry's, Nostradamus and seven other physicians on hand when she'd started coughing and wheezing, gripping her throat so sightly as it closed from the inside. It had been discovered that the blade was marred with poison, taking almost three weeks to even start to heal from. The girl had been on the edge of death for nine days, before being sent away to a nunnery when she could finally walk. It had been the dead of night when the future Dauphine and Queen was sent away, and she'd heard word of the cries of anguish the young Medici-Valois-Angoulême children had heard of her disappearance.

Of course, she hadn't remained there long. Maybe three weeks, before Marie de Guise had ushered her child home. And there she stayed until the age of fourteen, when it was time to wed, but that lead to the whole ordeal in France, something that the Queen loathed to remember.

Mary awoke with a painful gasp. Her body was covered in silk and warm furs and blankets. A hand was at her forehead, warm and substantial. Roughened by work, a thick ring somehow cold on the skin that clearly belonged to a man.

From behind her abdominal skin, a small kick could be felt, underneath a hand that felt quite similar, although this one wasn't touching her skin. It was restrained by layers of blankets and the silk gown she wore. It comforted her, nonetheless. That, and the kick of her unborn child.

She smiled into the touch, her teeth remaining guarded by a rather dry mouth, letting a soft word whisper from her throat. "Francis."

She heard a rustle, the beginning's of words, but payed them no mind. Darkness consumed her. She gladly gave herself over to sleep.

Ah, Francis. Her husband whom she loved, what a mess they'd found themselves in. It seemed hard to believe that once upon a time, the duo had been foolish and happy, drunk on love for one another. It seemed so simple, a world where they loved each other almost as much as they loved there people and countries. Who knows, maybe somewhere, in time or space, they could have lived a life like that. But that life wasn't this one. That life was simple, and for a time, so had theirs been. But that was then, now it was so complicated.

Everything was complicated, bar the love of their children. Even now, after all this time, Mary still wasn't sure if all had been forgiven. An almost twenty eight month long abandonment, a bastard child with her onetime best friend and two years of supposed death, let alone the political madness he had caused after his miraculous rise from the grave. Maybe one day they would be, but that day wasn't today, and she didn't think it would be anytime after tomorrow. It may be someday forgiven, but Mary wasn't sure if it could be forgotten.

But maybe it didn't have to be. She knew she could love him and be weary of what he had done in the past. She also knew she could forgive, but never forget. But, what the Empress didn't know was how.

How they could get through all of that. How they could get through not only his actions, but Mary's own and Catherine's recent tantrum. She didn't know how to get through it, but she definatley knew who to get through it with. And, if the past had taught her anything, it would be that they definatley could get through the worst things, so long as they were with each other. And judging by the lack of him not at her side, they would be.

Then, complete darkness took over. Mary welcomed the rest.

When she awoke, the hand was there again. But resting at her cheek. She moaned into the touch, wondering why the other hands' grip on hers tightened. Why was Francis worried for her? She was only sleeping. It was a natural thing for a pregnant woman to do, even for an Empress.

"Mary? Mary can you hear me?" a voice said. An unfamiliar voice. Her eyebrows furrowed. What on earth could somebody she didn't recognise be doing in her bedchambers, calling her by name?

Mary's eyes opened. An audible sigh was heard from multiple people, in quick succession, nonetheless. Quickly, blurry eyes focused on the ceiling of her bedchambers, all grand and regal. Coffered tiles were finely indented, cream and ornate, chandeliers hanging down.

The Empress' eyes fell from the ceiling to the walls, trailing down to at least two dozen people standing in her bedchambers. She frowned, silently wondering why they looked so worried and anxious, yet relieved to see her eyes open.

Quickly identifying around eight of them as physicians, a few other servants, as well as her ladies and three of her half brothers, James, Robert and Adam. What on earth were people doing in her and Francis' bed chambers?

Said King was sitting at her side, looking down at her intently. From their close proximity, Mary could tell that he was exhausted and anxious. The look on his face and the dark circles under his eyes gave it away. When he was worried or unhappy, he seemed to age a decade, and staring back at her was a young man looking old. What was going on.

"Mary," he sighed, leaning forwards to kiss her head. He peppered kisses on her hands, clasping them both in his.

"What's going on?" the Empress croaked.

"Your Majesty, how do you feel?" sir Matthias came into her eyesight, looking equally as relieved to see her awake as her own husband was.

"Well, sir Matthias." Mary almost questioned. "What is going on? What are all these people doing here? What are you doing here?" she asked.

"You don't remember, Imperial Majesty?"

"Remember what?"

"You collapsed, Mary." Francis informed her. She frowned. That couldn't have happened. "As Bash, Leith, James and I were discussing my mother and Spain. You fainted." he repeated.

"What? I couldn't have, I-"

"You did, Majesty. You've not slept long, there is no fever. We think it nothing but stress."

"Stress? I am not under stress."

"I believe you are, Majesty. Your heart beats faster under my hand than what is normal for a woman in your condition. Your face paler than usual, you are not taking in as much food as you should or did. I worry for you and your child's health, Majesty."

"The child." Mary realised. She placed a hand on her large, growing stomach, instantly comforted by a kick and a little squirm. She sighed, the tension building in her body relaxing with this revelation.

"Shh, Mary. It's alright. The child is alright."

"Yes, Majesty. Your child lives, midwives can confirm it's health. However, I fear for it's continued safety should your Majesty remain this stressed and uncomfortable."

"I am not stressed or uncomfortable." she rolled her eyes. "But, if it is what you recommend, I must oblige. What is it you wish me to do? For my child's' safety."

"Retire, Majesty." he said. Mary frowned. "Retire to a castle of your choosing, along with the Emperor and the Crown Prince. Leave your Majesties' empire to the care of the Earls of Moray, Orkney and Argyll. Your Majesty should only return after her churchment, post their royal highness' birth."

"How are you feeling?" Greer asked her heavily pregnant Empress and friend, assisting her in standing up straight, the sizeable bump on her abdomen no doubt causing lower back pain. The raven haired beauty slowly closed her eyes, her mouth open in a grimace. Unblemished cheeks creased in pain, a slightly swollen hand reaching to steady itself on a sturdy, dark oak chair.

"Absulutley awful." Mary grumbled. "I'd forgotten how horrid pregnancy could be." she mumbled, the opposite hand reaching up to brush slightly damp hair from her forehead. At thirty two weeks pregnant, the unborn, child made his presence known in more ways than one. Never mind the growing bump that couldn't possibly get bigger -but would-, Mary had been plagued with horrid sickness and pain in her back and legs. Something not helped by the constant worry over her Empire and France, who were both now firmly in regent rule.

Stéphane Narcisse had been quite the thorn in Mary's side in her pregnancy. Of course, it hadn't been for long, maybe six of seven months of being forced to bow to Lord Narcisse until she cleaned up Francis' mess, before she had gotten back control of her country. But, the chill of the powerful man had always haunted her. It had taken a complete strip of his lands and titles and money to get him firmly under her control, but he had proven one thing to his Queen Consort and former Queen Regent. The man was loyal to France, wanted what was best for him and her, so she used that to her advantage.

He had became her little puppet for a year, before being allowed to slowly act for himself. But, even then, his logic behind all of that was loyalty to France, wanting what was best for her, wanting the strongest possible ruler for her, seeing as though all the power fell to Mary once Francis was declared dead and James the real King. His power and security relied on the power and security of his Catholic Queen and Catholic Regent, until she was no longer his little puppet and he became hers.

Francis had clearly seen the once vengeful, power hungry Lord for what he was, a fiercely loyal Lord, who simply played the game of power to his advantage. With close surveillance from himself, Stéphane Narcisse ruled as regent of France, had done ever since Francis exiled Catherine from Court. Not the smartest decision, as it was cleverer to keep her locked up than to send her away, but one quite justified.

The aforementioned King hadn't left her side the entire pregnancy, moving wherever she did. It was a pleasant surprise, to have him by her side when she needed him the most. Not like the other time she'd needed him the most, but Mary chose not to wallow in the past. With her and James and their inner circle, they'd vacated English Court some days ago, settling comfortably at Nonsuch Palace, grand enough to welcome a future Prince yet private enough for security and calmness, something the Empress desperately needed as her time drew near.

Ruling her empire in her stead were her half brothers, James and Robert Stewart, along with Adam -their eldest sibling- and John Stewart. It seemed controversial that the Empress would appoint mainly Protestant bastards to rule as regent in her stead -although Adam was Catholic, as was John- but all who opposed the loyal regents were pacified by a few Welsh Lords being given a tad more power and the right people comfortably suckling on a few golden coins. Of course not literally, but they did happily turn a blind eye to the regents and the Empress' tricky political decisions whenever gold and land was involved. Powerful men weren't that complex, it was obvious.

Adam Stewart -the most religious of all of the long dead King James Stewart's children- took care of the religious sides of ruling, pacifying Catholics and Protestants alike, while James, Earl of Moray, ruled over the more important political matters. Robert assisted his elder half brother, whilst John carefully constructed their armies to slowly prepare themselves for imminent invasion, thanks to Greer's working girls and Mary's own seductive spies.

Of course, the half siblings hadn't caused Mary as much trouble as Stéphane Narcisse had in France. All had been loyal to their sister and Queen, had been ever since they were children. And, it was their pleasure to care for her country whilst she grew their next Prince. Mary's half sister Jean and their other half brothers comfortably resided in Nonsuch, assisting the Empress with whatever she needed.

"Are you sure you don't want me to have more ginger tea brought up, Mary?" Kenna asked, coming into the main chambers from the conjoining washroom, a vision in pink and purple chiffon. A hand was placed on top of her prominent, twenty five week old bump, completely comfortable in her maternity as she had been in her last. "I was just to have some." she finished, throwing a concerned look at Mary. Although both hardly looked different in their respective second pregnancies, the paleness and weakness couldn't be written off.

"No, no. It's alright, dear Kenna." she mumbled, collapsing into a long divan, pulling up swollen feet to rest on the soft satin pillows at the end. "I'm simply tired."

"It's barely midday, Mary." she frowned, coming in close. "Are you sure you're alright?" Kenna asked, motherly concern marring her features even though Mary was four months older than her. Kenna had always been maternal however, even before her time with the poor, long dead Pascal. It had just taken the small pagan boy and the birth of precious Lady Meredith de Portiers to finalise it. She had always suited motherhood, in addition.

"Perfectly fine, sister." Mary said, her voice mumbled. "You should know pregnancy tires a woman." she said, reaching out to pat a hand twice in quick succession, in an effort to comfort her Lady in Waiting and half sister in law.

"You're warm." Greer noticed, placing a cold cloth on Mary's forehead. She sighed in pleasure.

"Another effect of pregnancy, my friend. I had the same with James." Mary replied, gently taking off the blanket Kenna placed on her teal coloured rayon dress. A simple gown with no embellishments, comfortably hugging her growing stomach as if that growing bump wasn't decoration enough. It simply was more precious than any diamond the Empress owned. Only a sheer teal housecoat with pearls -that had long been thrown off- had been the only extravagance the pregnant Empress had donned.

Kenna looked down at her growing baby bump, feeling a slight squirm inside of her. Mary had always fallen pregnant before her, giving the pregnant barroness a taste of what was to come. And, the imminent day of birth that grew closer every day, and the no doubt bloody hell that the Empress was to endure and Kenna had to watch, she knew that she worried about the end of the royal pregnancy rather than the Empress did herself.

They were no strangers to the dangers of childbirth. Nobody in the room was. All were mothers and all suffered in their own rights. Greer had the hardest pregnancies of the three, Kenna the longest, whilst Mary had the most gruesome childbirth. They had all survived it at least once, but who was to say it would happen once more?

They were, of course, mere breakable women.

"Mother, why are you here?" Queen Elisabeth of Spain asked, cautiously settling at the end of a divan near the fire, two golden teacups in her hands.

"I've told you, child," the Queen Mother of France grinned mysteriously. "I wish to help your husband with your issue with the Queen of Scotland." Catherine nearly smirked, taking the tea and taking a sip from it.

"Why? I know you've never gotten on with Mary, apart from when my dear brother was thought to be with the almighty, but why now?" Elisabeth asked, ever the gentle soul. "What could Francis' wife have done to upset you, so?" the Valois princess asked.

"What has Mary Stuart done, Elisabeth?" Catherine glared. "What hasn't she done? Mary took my grandson away from me, took him across the water when your brother came back from Italy. Mary made my son feel so much pain, slowly manipulating him into thinking her way was the right way, the only way of thinking. She ripped him from his country, making him abandon it once again, right when she needed him the most. She held him in her own country, slowly manipulating him into becoming nothing more than a trophy husband! A pretty trophy for the ladies of the court to gase upon. How could she do that? How could it be justified? Slowly poisoning his mind against me, his mother. I have no doubt she has done the same with their son. He turned from me, so much so that he banished me from France! The country I gave him! The country his father and I handed to him on a damned silver platter! Yet he shoves it into the hands of Mary's puppet to go galavanting across the water with her! She took everything from me, Elisabeth! She took my country, my son, my grandson! All because shes so ardent and ignorant to not act like a queen, but to act like a girl!" Catherine snapped. "She's destroyed the French-Spanish alliance, angering your husband and harming your position! You have no son, Elisabeth! Not even a daughter to marry off! This alliance is in tatters, everything I worked so hard for is gone because of her!"

"Mother, you must not speak this way. Francis sounds so happy in his letters to me, happier than he was whilst Mary was in Edinburgh and he in French Court. He speaks of the love he has for her, their son."

"You do not defend your husbands' enemy!" Catherine snapped.

Elisabeth continued as if she hadn't even spoken, her tone not kind but not unkind. "Do you know she's with child, mother? Mary is pregnant." Elisabeth revealed. "She expects a child in eight weeks, she and Francis tell me that she and the child are healthy and happy."

Catherine snorted. "If she was growing with child, Elisabeth, I would have known about it immediately. Do you forget who your mother is, child? What that alleged child is is simply a glue to keep Francis under her thumb, France in her pocket. It is not real, Elisabeth. Mary is intelligent, I will give her that. She is manipulative. She took everything from me, and I will have no more. I will take every thing from her that she took from me. Mary forgets that I am no Anne of Cleeves. I am no submissive, I am no penitent bride. I am no somber, mourning wife. I am still a Queen. I will forever be a Queen. I am Catherine de Medici. And I will never bow to her."


	23. Chapter 23

Francis awoke slowly. He let out a moan, his voice grisly due to sleep. The closest arm extended out to the side, trying to find his wife and son as he had done for the past week and a half. But, instead of finding the little, sleeping lump that belonged to his son and the growing figure of his pregnant wife and Empress, his arm found nothing but the bed sheets. His eyebrows furrowed. That was odd. His head rose up a little, blonde curls even more curled and messier than usual. But, his eyes found what his hand did. Nothing. Nothing but little indentations of past figures in his marital bed.

He took comfort in the thrown sheets and bedclothes resting on the hamper at the foot of their bed, the curtains astrew on one side, the small satin tie undone and the physical, sheer curtain thrown back a tad, not falling right. He swallowed thickly, turning to the window. The sun was high up in the sky, the clouds a little larger than the day before. A shiver ran down his spine, so he pulled one of the furs laying across from him closer, protecting himself from the early November chill.

Slowly gathering himself from the bed, he untied and pulled back the other curtain, slowly lolloping over to the small table near another window, rubbing his arms together. Although not as cold as his wife's homeland, English weather in November was quite a bit colder than France. Languidly, he reached towards a small table, filling a goblet with water and taking it like a shot, enjoying the feeling of his throat being soothed by the cool liquid. He rolled his neck, sighing as the bones cracked loudly. He drained two more goblets, before throwing back some liquid on his face, waking himself up.

Wiping his face clean from the cold water, he cleared his throat softly. It had to be nearly midday now, and he usually would have been awake hours before his pregnant wife, but the King had spent the last five days travelling and visiting young John at the comfortably sized Hansbury House in the North-West of Wales. It was the home gifted to the boy by his father-with Mary's permission- after his last birthday, the child not taking to his step fathers' home as much as his father would have liked him to.

John was healthy and far more contented than he was in Scottish -or French, for that matter,- Court. Although still angered by certain subjects, the boy adored his father and was so excited to lay eyes on him when he came to the house four and a half days ago.

_"John, darling." Lola had chirped when he arrived, dishevelled in riding clothes and all. "There's a visitor for you." _

_"Who?" John had wined. "Another boring person wanting me to be a nice boy to the Prince?" he asked, voice quite mispronounced and slurred. "No, I won't do it!"_

_"Not quite, love." his mother smiled as her fair haired son had came into the room._

_John instantly lay eyes on his father. Little footsteps halted and he beamed, big blue eyes wide. "Papa!" he shrieked, running forwards into his fathers' arms._

The child had been happier than the last time Francis lay eyes on him, content in his new residence and happily oblivious to how much the servants disliked his mere existence, as well as his mothers. There were only a few of them to attend to the Dame, Sir and young Baron, after all. Not nearly enough to make a valid difference to John's mentality, and their dislike of his bastardy was disguised as much as possible.

The duo had had a nice three days together, riding in the hills and practising archery in the mornings, walking on the grounds in the evenings and enjoying each others' presence. Although it wasn't the same for Francis, a horridly true thing, he was very aware that he wanted to father this child as much as he was able, preferably without angering his wife or making his other children filled with the same jealousy and resentment that both of his sons had been filled with at one point or another.

He had gotten back the night before, missing the palace's small party by a few hours, coming into his chambers well past midnight to the heartwarming sight of James and Mary curled up together, fast asleep on the bed. They had been on their sides, James' head resting on his mothers' chest, a tiny hand placed securely on her growing stomach. They had been donned in simple whites, both of them attaining an angelic feel -as if they every would have needed it.

Francis dressed himself in a simple outfit of black leather trousers, knee high boots, a white tunic, a gold and silver embellished doublet with a fur coat that left his arms exposed. Running his fingers through his hair, Francis slowly left the chambers, smiling at the sound of childish giggling and squealing.

"Oncle!" two voices shrieked. Chuckling, the King of France knelt to the floor to receive the two little figures barrelling towards him.

"Hello, mes petites princesses." he chuckled, looking over Meredith -who was beaming at him, blue-green eyes brighter by her red, long sleeved gown and crooked necklace- and Odette, who was regaining her balance, copper curls messy and purple dress obstructing her unstable balance quite a bit.

"Oncle." Meredith smiled, giggling at her uncle as he picked them both up with ease, resting one on each of his hips. "Missed you, Oncle." Meredith wrapped her arms around Francis' neck, her half cousin following, repeating the syllables to her own uncle.

"I missed you, too." he chuckled. "Where are your fathers?" he asked the elder of the two when she unwrapped herself from him. Odette did not. He started to walk aimlessly through the palace.

"Papa is with Oncle Leith." Meredith nodded. "They're talking about boring stuff." she complained. "About Grandmere and the wicked King of Spain." she said, repeating the words eight year old Elisabeth had told him when they were children, such a long time ago. "Told us to go run and play, but we weren't to disturb Tante Mary, nor Maman."

"Why not?" Francis asked, turning a corner, getting a horrid feeling in his stomach. Like a cold knot forming, one that hadn't formed since he learned of Mary's brief dalliance with Lord Darnley.

"Tante Mary is very tired and James will not leave her alone. Not for a second. And Maman can't do a lot of things, the baby makes it hard." she revealed. "She's helping Tante Greer as much as she can." Meredith nodded. "But Tante won't let her do anything. And Tante Mary can't do a lot now. She can only lay down, to make sure her and your baby will be okay." she babbled.

"Clever girl." he praised, pressing a kiss to her dark brown curls. She giggled.

"Sweet boy, time to move away now." Greer softly said. James clung to his mothers' body, shaking his head, a small sound escaping his lips.

"Come on, love. Maman is okay." Mary softly said, her voice tired and somewhat weak. At thirty five weeks pregnant, she was feeling all the effects of pregnancy. Swollen feet and legs, tiredness, not being able to do anything, eating constantly, aching bones and joints, including the hard kicks of her unborn baby. Who, although proved him or herself to be strong, the kicks hurt her. And, after seeing her gasp in pain after a particularly hard shot, turned her boy into a doting and protective young thing, more than he was earlier.

"No, mama. No." he shook his head, little fists gripping her red silk and lace gown, shaking his head again.

Mary cooed at his clear distress and ran her -slightly swollen- fingers through his hair, whispering to him in their native tongue, sweet nothings leaving her pouty lips in an attempt to comfort him. He barely remembered what it was like to see Greer grow with child and the things he did were only what they felt comfortable showing him. Greer's pregnancies were quite unlike Mary's, including Kenna's, so the boy was in a frenzy of fear and protectiveness for his beloved mother.

He had spent the last few nights in her bed, driven by his fear for his mother and the lack of his father, thankfully sleeping to deeply to see her reaction to the latest dream she had been having.

_"No, no!" she had cried. "You cannot do this to me!"_

_"I cannot? I cannot?! You're the one who did this! You brought this upon yourself! Your choices brought this upon yourself! You made this bed, now you lay in it!"_

_"Don't say things like that, please!"_

_"Why? Why? You want me to get angry at you, didn't you? Get my anger out of the way so you won't be scared that I'll resent you so much that I'll turn into another Catherine, you another Diane! No, the real reason you wish for my anger is so you can feel like the victim!"_

_"We won't! We won't! I am not Diane, you are not Catherine and Francis is in no way his father! I do not want your husband, Mary. I want your help! If you do this, you cannot loose! I'll marry a noble and move far away, you'll never see the result of what we did, you'll have children of your own with Francis, live happily ever after with him and rule for a long while!"_

_"Isn't that a nice thought? Kings and Queens do not live happily ever after. You should know that. Look and Henry and Catherine, look at Diane!"_

_"Diane and Catherine weren't friends how we are! We won't become them, I refuse to! Please, don't let my one night with Francis destroy what we have!"_

_"One night? Please. Don't lie to me. You get pregnant with Francis' child the morning before I married him. How is that okay?"_

_"It isn't! I made a mistake! An enormous mistake! One that if I could take back, I would! But, I have no carriage that takes me back in time! I can't change it, what we did, nor the consequences of our decision."_

_"You made a stupid choice, Lola. A downright, stupid choice. One that is ruining my marriage."_

_"What? Francis doesn't know."_

_"I am not talking about that. I am lying to my husband for you. To protect you. Imagine the cracks that my protection for you bring to my marriage! If I can't get pregnant, and soon, we will turn into them!"_

_"We won't! When, not if, when you get pregnant with Francis' legitimate child, you will be happy. So, so happy. So will the relm and France and Scotland and England as well. You won't turn into Francis' mother, and he not his father. The only one who will be alone in your happiness is me, if I cannot wed before my child is born. But, Mary, do not let that happiness -or the anger you bare me- undermine compassion. For those less fortunate than you. Peasants, royalists. Me."_

_"Compassion? I have compassion for you, but it is not compassion that rules you as we speak. But desperation. Desperation for a childish fantasy of love in marriage that will never happen because of what you did. Of what I must do for you, to protect you, despite what you did to me."_

_"I-"_

_"No. Stop. You getting pregnant has put a time stamp on your marriage. Now, you will not love this man, this is merely a political affair, to protect you from yourself. If you wish to love him, learn to. But it is of no consequence to me if you do or not. It is a cage, Lola. A cage that I and every woman -royal or peasant alike- feel. One you are trapped in now, but it is of your own making, not mine. The bars formed the moment you decided to sleep with Francis knowing my feelings for him and him to me, the lock closed the moment that child was conceived." _

_"Yes. Yes I know! I know! Get that anger out of your system, so we can move on, together!"_

_"You do not speak to me as if it is I with the problem. It is you! A literal problem grows inside you!"_

_"Don't bring my child into this!"_

_"Aww, do you not like the truth? That all that child that grows within you is, will ever be, is a problem. A political problem, he will be hated by two nations. A personal problem, he is destroying my marriage!"_

_"I-"_

_"Stop! The only reason you wish my anger to come out is not to help you, but so you can feel like the victim! But you are not! I am! To a certain extent, that child is! You, who will give it life, have taken it away! You have brought it into a world of hatred and neglect. Don't you realise? You have killed him!"_

_"You are wrong. I wish your anger to come out not to feel the victim, but to get my friend, my Queen to help me. Like she would. But, I see you now. Who you have became. And I know she will not."_

_"How dare you impune my character! Oh, Lola, please forgive me for not waving a magic wand and making a perfect nobleman who will wed you, pregnant with a bastard whelp out of thin air! Oh, forgive me for being concerned by the fact that if Henry and Catherine take my head -like the contract they tricked me into signing allows them to do- that my country will fall into their grip and will burn from the inside out! Oh, no, it is all about you and your problems! Always about you and your problems!"_

_"It was a mistake!"_

_"A choice! A stupid, foolish choice!"_

_"If I don't wed, I won't have any choices! Not anymore! You do and you always will, you are a Queen!"_

_"How perceptive of you! In case it slipped your notice, the life of a Queen is so much harder than that of one that ties my shoes and fastens my corsets! That is all you have been born to do, all you will ever be, and you find a way to mess it up! How stupid are you?!"_

_"Am I forbidden to bemoan my problems? That because of the child that grows inside of me, I will be ruined forever? Cast aside and left to starve in the streets? Oh, mighty Queen, forgive me! You will hear nothing of minor problems. Problems of village girls and people who have forced themselves onto others. Or of a girl who used to be your friend."_

_"Oh, no! How will I ever survive? My husbands' whore doesn't want to be my friend anymore! Oh, excuse me whilst I go cry myself to sleep! No, wait a second, I don't think I will. Think about it, you not wanting to be my friend any more is all the power you have. I could take your head for treason! Without me, you are nothing. You cannot wed without my permission and if you anger me, I will refuse any marriage proposals you may miraculously attain and ensure you starve on the streets. Get out! Get out of my life, and go burn without me!"_

That wasn't one of her bizarre dreams. Not like the ones where Clarissa was granted her mothers' love, not like the ones where Leith and Greer wed and not like the ones where Kenna gave birth to Henry's child. That was a flashback. A flashback to one of her and Lola's first arguments about John, just before Francis nearly drowned and Henry forced Kenna to wed Sebastian under duress. A flashback that, Mary could readily admit, wasn't as dissatisfying as the others she had. The most noticeable, being Lola's execution. Which, of course, was still on the cards in reality.

"Mother, what do you plot?" Queen Elisabeth of Spain asked, coming into the room where her mother sat writing. She placed herself down on a nearby settee, her skirt rustling as she sat.

"Nothing you need to concern yourself over, dear. You have matters of your won to deal with." Catherine replied, not looking up from her parchment.

"Like what, mother? I am the lone, foreign Queen in a foreign land. Not a friend, not an ounce of power. This is Phillip's country, he does whatever he pleases. I can do nothing about it."

"Oh, not of political matters, darling." Catherine smirked, standing up from her table and chairs and walking over to her eldest daughter, wolfishly smirking at her. "Of a matter a little more personal." she let on, sitting down next to Elisabeth, toying with her dark locks.

"Mother?" Elisabeth frowned, clearly not used to matters so personal and affectionate from her Medici mother. Although she doted on her children when they were young, Catherine had only been touchy feely to Francis, much to the young boys' dismay. Plus, she had always resented her daughters a little more than her sons, loved them a little more. When they were children, Catherine had absolutely despised Mary as she grew for four years, but there had always been a little more resentment to Elisabeth's' end than any of her other daughters. Something that contributed to her being shipped off to Spain when Mary was shipped off to the convent.

"Hush, dear. Let me help you."

"Whatever with?" she frowned.

"How long have you been wed? Years? And not once has your womb swollen with child." Catherine's hand snuck south, touching the lower part of Elisabeth's' bodice. "I wish to help remedy this."

"Mother!" she snapped, snapping up to her feet. "This is not about my womb and the lack of a son for Phillip. This is about my brother." she snapped. Catherine's eyes hardened. "Why do you betray him? Francis is and always was your favourite out of all of us. Your golden child could do no wrong. So, why do you betray him so?"

"That Scottish wife of his, that's why." Catherine hissed.

"Why do you hate Mary so? I adore my sister in law, something Phillip hates more than her herself."

"She has poisoned Francis' mind against me! He listened to me until he started taking his council from her! He listened to reason, claiming his bastard, ruling well, but then he ran off after her after she left him! The girl stole my life! My crown, my position, my country, my son! Now it is time that I take something from her!"

"So you conspire with her enemy? Think of it, mother! She has birthed your grandson, expects another child within the month! Why would you harm something so precious and dear to your golden child? Why, mother? Why?" Elisabeth cried. But Catherine had no response.

_"You know I love you, don't you?" his voice was quiet and a little raggedy. Their skin was slick with drying sweat, heartbeats thumping underneath their rib cages. The young, resplendent Scottish Queen and Dauphine of France lay across her King and Prince's chest, hearing the heart that had long since claimed, interlocked and submitted to her own. She drew aimless patterns on his skin, glistening golden due to the heavy candlelight in the room._

_"I do." was her quiet response. Guilt and anger twisted in her gut, unrequited resentment burning her insides. How could Lola force her to hide this from her husband? How could she expect that from her? In fact, why was she submitting to Lola's desires in the first place? She was the Queen, not Lola. She could tell him -tell him right now. Then, they'd work through it and be done with it._

_But then the reality of that plan sunk in. If she told him, their dynamic would change into something they might not be able to come back from, or adapt to. He would without a doubt claim the unborn baby, dote on Lola and trap her and it in Mary's life for good. The anger and resentment Mary bore would grow and feature and bloom into something cold and hard, resembling the figure of Catherine de Medici. Francis would transform into his father and Lola to Diane. The love Francis bore to Mary would fade in time, and redirect itself into the Flemming woman's direction. Mary would harden into Catherine, her heart becoming blind and deaf, only beating for her country and any children she may finally be granted._

_If she didn't portray her pain and guilt, then Mary would forever live in silent pain and torment. It would burn her from the inside out, leaving her a cold, empty shell of the naive and sweet girl she once was. However, if she did, what would happen then? Would Francis help them and marry Lola off? Or would he turn to Lola and be a disgustingly happy family whilst she was cold, barren and alone? Mary didn't know if she had the strength to do that. Would she have no choice? Bound by a marriage that couldn't be taken away, forced to stay in French Court, watch Francis dote on his bastard whilst she remained barren and unloved. If she didn't have a child and Francis did, it was a danger to her. She could loose her head because of this, no matter how badly she wished to give him a child, a son, a family. Instead, she would have to be forced to watch Lola -of all people, her least loyal Lady- give her husband that. Would he make her his mistress in the future? Have more bastard children whilst she waited a decade to have an heir? Or, would he simply kill her and take Lola as his second wife? That had been done before, it was always a possibility of happening again._

_That child and Francis' reaction wouldn't only wreak havoc on Mary's personal life, but her professional as well. Francis would be weak and sentimental, lessened on the world's stage, putting France and Scotland in danger and turmoil. And, since he was a man, the world would look to him to rule and not her. It was the curse of being morn a female regnant, her husband ruled his wife and Scotland would be ruled by a foreign Prince and King, not her birth written ruler. They'd be a laughing stock, all because Francis and Lola hadn't thought of the consequences of their actions and were blinded by repulsive lust. Did they not realise the consequences of that night? _

_Did they just forget that she existed? That she'd inevitably find out and be devastated? Or, was that the plan? To hurt her? Was that possible? Did he stop loving her? Why would Lola hurt her like that? What had she done to deserve that kind of betrayal? Of, was that the plan, again? To hurt her for not saving Collen all those months ago? Even if it wasn't, did they honestly not know that Lola could end up pregnant? That she could be ruined and that child forever slandered?_

_Obviously, Francis knew the mechanics of conception. She knew there was always the possibility that he had a few bastards out there, he was quite the ladies man before she arrived. And, he had slept with Olivia quite a few times, even when Mary was at the castle. He wasn't naive to that aspect of life, he knew the mechanics of both bodies and had to know the possibility of a third. He couldn't have set out to get Lola pregnant. That was just too unlike him._

_But Lola was different. She was obviously too young and naive to be having sex. And, yet, she still was. The foolish harlot. Did she honestly forget the importance of virtue? With Collen, with Francis? The sheer fact she didn't know where to terminate the bastard pregnancy was proof enough, the sheer fact she wasn't a virgin anymore was a fact. She probably didn't know how children were even conceived until she conceived one._

_Francis' child. Francis' child at that._

_Subconsciously, Mary's fist balled into a tight fist. Her jaw clenched._

_Francis's hand wrapped around her own, gently, even if it was a bit slick with sweat and clammy with exertion._

_"What is it?" his voice was soothing, the greatest remedy to her horrible thoughts._

_"Nothing," she quickly replied, swallowing down the anger and resentment and jealousy and mistrust. "It's nothing." she took in a breath, trying to convince them both that it was to gain oxygen to remedy her exhaustion over their recent __**activities**__. "Never mind."_

_"Are you sure?" Francis asked, taking her fist and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "No more secrets between us, Mary."_

_"I'm sure," she affirmed. "Everything is perfect, my love."_

_**No more secrets? Wouldn't that be nice?**_

The pregnant wife turned her head on the pillow, hearing it crinkle and crease under the weight of her head and the thick, long sea of black curls. The satin and lace were warm from her body, chilled by the winter's kiss that lay herself over their land. She brought her blankets and furs over herself a little, feeling the trifecta of kicks that their unborn child has made his or her own. She bit her lip, registering the back and hip pain that had been a near constant since she had hit five months, the nearly inaudible sound echoing in the substantial room. She inhaled deeply, her eyes turning from the large bump underneath the blankets and her skin to something equally as beautiful, the sleeping face of her husband.

How perfectly he had been sculpted, he held an angelic feature about him. Golden curls and bright blue eyes had been the first thing she had noticed about him when they were children, eye big and bright and glistening. His curls had danced to a tune all of their own, but he had grown into an attractive young King over the years.

A strong, chiselled jawline and a straight nose, high cheekbones and those pretty blue eyes that had been so expressive over the years. Stormy dark when he was angry, azure and cloudy when he was sad -she had seen so much of that in the latter section of their time in France- and so bright when he was happy, again, she had seen so much of that in the last few months.

His manly beauty had been a factor in their progression from their past mistakes, at least on her part. Their once undisputed love for each other had been the majority factor, a little being the fact that she wanted James to have a proper family, something neither of them had, a little being that she didn't want to be another Catherine, but the simple fact of him was a little factor in that. How could she deny him, when after all they'd been through, she loved him so?

Mary turned to him, looking deeper into his face. She traced her fingers over his jawline, heard him moan in his deep sleep. He'd definatley worked through most of the walls she'd put up over the last years. And, although he'd been loving and attentive -for the most part, when he wasn't being politically manipulated by his mother- before they knew of the baby, he had acted so different when they found out that she was in fact with child. So attentive and adoring, rushing to attend to her every need, rubbing her sore back and feet at night, bringing her water or extra blankets at the brink of dawn.

Francis had had almost a childish awe to him over her pregnancy. How fascinated he'd been when noticing the changes in her body. It was adorable, although he was quite the stranger to pregnancy. The closest he'd gotten to it -really- was when he was young and his mother was giving birth to his fathers' sons and daughters. And that seemed quite a while ago, looking back.

But these pregnancies were completely different. It was his children growing inside. His children and his heirs. Well, his sons, at least. He'd never known about Lola's pregnancy, only knew of his young bastard when he was being born, seeing him only after he was born, not before. And, of course, he had been in Italy when Mary was pregnant with James. Even that was different. Lola's pregnancy and John's entire life was -as horrid as it was to say- a mistake, a rendezvous gone wrong. Treason and betrayal and pain. But Mary's pregnancies -although the latter was a little different to the former- were the result of their pure love and adoration to each other, although it didn't seem like it at times.

Mary watched his reactions as she gently stroked his skin. How he turned to her as her fingers skated across his face, how he sighed and almost purred as her fingers slid down his throat. His soft moan as her palm danced over his chest, the shiver as the hand slid over his waist. She watched in her own fascination as the goosebumps appeared on his skin was her fingers waltzed down his arms, the shudder of his whole body as their hands slid together.

Her lips parted as she lay the other hand on his chest, listening to his heart. It raced hard, seeming to be reacting to her touch and her physical presence. She had never seen anything like it before, never actually saw the depth of his feelings for her. They had been doubted -even by himself in their early courtship- and pushed aside at times, but she had never actually saw it as she did now. Mary knew for a fact that he hadn't done this with anybody else. Not Natalia, damn sure not Lola, not even Olivia. Only her.

Mary fixed a lock of golden hair, enjoying its softness and beauty. He moaned in his sleep, shifting over to her. Mary smiled softly down at him, bringing their still conjoined hands to her stomach, letting him feel their child's strong kicks and turns and punches.

She leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to Francis' lips. Even in sleep, he responded, lips softening under hers. Or, was he actually sleeping? The thought slipped into her head. But, he was. She always knew.

Whilst most had been forgiven on both ends, Mary knew she never would forget what had happened in their past. She knew, however, that that ember of love had never smouldered, even when she thought he was dead. And, all that anger and pain and resentment hadn't dulled it. Whilst she was well aware that she loved him, more after his latest actions, now was the first time she actually faced the reality of the fact that she loved him, now more than ever. After all this time, that love was still there.

And she doubted it would ever go away.

No, Mary knew it would never go away.


	24. Chapter 24

Pregnancy was hard. The more she grew, the more painful it was. The child constantly kicked and squirmed and attacked from the inside whilst his mother desperately tried to rest. Sleep was almost impossible, she ate all the time and regularly vomited it back up. Her legs hurt and her feet swelled, fatigue was constant and her moods swung on a pendulum. Back pain and hip pain and headaches wouldn't go away, her stomach was so large that Mary couldn't remember seeing her feet. It was all so hard.

Kick!

Mary winced, hissing in pain. As if hearing his mothers' internal complaints, the baby kicked again. And the baby had quite the strong kick. She made a noise of irritation, rubbing the lower part of her stomach. The swollen bump on her abdomen was obvious, even under the skirts of her white gown. Donned in slightly sparkled lace, her shoulders and arms bare, a sparkled line on the sweetheart neckline, the cut exposing a few inches of her swollen breast. Mary hunched over a little, trying to take in a deep breath, the pain of the latter part of pregnancy easily forgotten in her previous time, but quite overpowering now.

"Mary, are you all right?" Francis asked, rushing towards her. He placed an arm around her back, the other around the lower part of her stomach. He steadied her, eyes wide with alarm, fearful as always.

"No, no. He's just kicking." she said. But, Francis payed her no mind and picked her up anyway, placing her down on their bed. He untied the satin ties of her satin, flat shoes, starting to worriedly rub at her feet and ankles until the tension left her face and she relaxed underneath his fingers.

Fluttering her eyes open, Mary smiled softly at her husband, grateful for his comfort, one she hadn't had before. He took her hand, gently running his thumb over her knuckles. She inhaled softly, leaning up on her elbows.

"Thank you." she said, her voice soft, suddenly filled with sleep and fatigue.

"You've nothing to thank me for." he said, his own voice soft. "I don't deserve you, nor your forgiveness." he said, his voice dripping with awe and love. Mary's smile grew, a hand -slightly swollen fingers and all- reaching out to cup his cheek. His skin was soft, the small stands of his beard scraggly. Francis leaned his head into her hand, enjoying the heat and the softness of it.

Leaning down, Francis pressed a soft kiss to her gown, speaking to his child that lay within her.

"Je t'aime, ma chère." his voice gentle, the other hand pressing to her large stomach, feeling the child kick and squirm from under his mothers' skin. The parents looked down at her abdomen and shared a smile. Mary's eyes filled with tears of pure happiness, before they closed as Francis pressed a lingering kiss to Mary's lips. They'd been so happy over the last few months, especially now seeing as though Greer carried another child within her. It had been a nice surprise, seeing as though Mary had been getting restless in confinement over the last few months.

"I cannot believe it, another child! My dear, you are the grace of my life! I love you! I love you!" Castleroy had smiled wide, bringing his arms around her tightly. Everybody around them -the select few chosen to retire to the country with Mary- cheered the happy couple as much as possible, watching their happy embrace as Greer's announcement finished.

"I love you, too. I cannot wait." her voice was soft, dream like, almost. She smiled as he embraced her, feeling nothing but love and security in his arms, as she always had. It had been just after supper as they sipped their teas, coffees and wines as they watched the moon fully open up to them. Greer had stood in the middle of their small circle, giving the news to everybody and Castleroy himself. They had been so happy. They were so happy. And in seven months, they would be even happier.

It was silent and serene and perfect for a few sacred moments, before the door suddenly snapped open, banging against the wall.

"Francis!" a voice cried. Jumping, Francis broke the kiss and gripped her hand, trying to soothe her as she jumped underneath him, also feeling the child startle from underneath his mothers' stomach.

"Bash." he breathed. "What is it?" he asked, noticing the look on his elder half brothers' face.

"Lord Castleroy." he said. Mary frowned. What could Greer's husband have to do with anything? Sure, there was the issue of his religion, but that had been all but settled in France when she was pregnant with James.

"What of him?" Francis got up from the bed. Mary placed a hand on her stomach, trying to soothe her child within her.

"He was travelling east, to meet his young children. When he was on his way back after a few days with them-" Sebastian trialled a little.

"What?" Francis asked. "What happened to the man?"

"Spanish mercenaries paid for by Italian gold." Bash began.

"Catherine." Mary leaned up on her elbows. "It has to be Catherine."

"It probably is, but-"

"But what?"

"His carriage and guards were attacked by the Spaniards." he started.

This sounds familiar, Mary thought. Poor Aloysius and Greer had been attacked on their wedding tour by bandits. Of course, Mary had gotten most of their goods and gold back, but the poor man couldn't catch a break. He was such a good man, he didn't deserve this.

"Is he alright?" Francis asked. "Where is he?"

"He's dead, Francis."

The shock of the woman before her's words burned through her very soul. No. How? How could this have happened? He was meant to be there for security reasons, to bring the people he loved home. But, that happened? How? How could this have happened? He was too important to his country to be just gone.

No. No, this couldn't be real. This simply couldn't be. This was all a dream, one she'd wake up from as she'd woken up from all else that they'd endured together. It had to be a dream, didn't it?

Tears filled her eyes. She touched her growing bump, trying to be comforted as much as she was comforting the life within her, forever altered. Barely eleven weeks gone, she barely showed, but this child would never know his or her father. That thought burned her.

One slipped down her cheek. Then another. Then another. Before she knew it, her cheeks were soaked with the flaming hot water that burned her skin. But she didn't care. She didn't care.

He was gone.

He was actually gone.

This time, he wasn't coming back.

Greer cried loudly on her knees, Kenna embracing her tightly. The pregnant Baroness clutched her dear friend to her chest, holding her as she screamed in pain. Greer gasped for breath against Kenna's collarbone, gripping the light pink material of her gown, turned dark because of her tears.

"My children." Greer sobbed. "I have to go to my children."

"Not like this." Kenna said, her voice quiet. "You must tell them, but prepare yourself to. You can't distress them with your own tears."

"He's dead, Kenna! He's dead!"

"I know, sweet Greer. I know."

"Mary, please. You have to rest." Francis repeated for what felt like the thousandth time, pushing his wife's shoulders back on the pillows -gently- only for her to resist once again.

"This is your mothers' doing! Francis, this is your mothers doing!" Mary cried, fishing his arms from her body.

"I know, my love. But you must calm yourself, this isn't good for the baby." Francis tried to soothe her, holding her face in his warm hands. But, she shook him off.

"No, Francis! This is wrong! We can't let Catherine get away with this, hurting Greer like this! She's my most loyal lady, she doesn't deserve this! Because of your mother, Rose and George will have to grow up without a father! And Greer's unborn child! This is wrong!" Mary cried, wiping her own cheeks clean of her tears.

"I know, my love. I know." he wiped her cheeks himself. "She won't get away with this, okay? We'll make sure she doesn't. But you have to take care of yourself and our child, you've only a few weeks left before he'll arrive. You must make sure he arrives healthy." his voice was soothing and soft, and she had to listen.

"I know," her voice was soft. She reached for his left wrist, bringing it from her face, starting to play with his signet ring. "Promise me, Francis. Promise me she won't get away with this pain she's caused them."

"I promise, love."

"Mother, what are you doing now?" Elisabeth asked, coming into her chambers, seeing her mother meddling in the corner. "Felipe tells me you've met with him. But he says not what you talk about. What are you plotting?"

"Nothing that concerns you, my dear." Catherine smiled, walking from the corner to her daughter, arms outstretched. Elisabeth frowned deeply.

"You're not like this. You hate me, me and Claude always more than Margot. Why?"

"I love all of you, Elisabeth. You know that." she smiled. Elisabeth frowned deeper.

"I do not. And nobody more than Francis." she hissed. "Stop this false nice act. You may fool my husband, but not me. Why are you doing this?"

"Is it a crime to assist my daughter in the act of conception? I helped your sister," Catherine hissed the last word. "with creating the Crown Prince of France and England. And now I will help you."

"No. You conspire against my sister and my brother. Why? Tell me, now."

"I do what I do because I know what is best for both of them, all of you!" Catherine suddenly exclaimed. "I do what I do because Francis is ruining France with his judgement, picking Stéphane Narcisse of all people," she hissed. "to rule as regent instead of me, your mother! The Queen who ruled for over a decade! I do what I do because he picks his Scottish wife over his mother! He picks his Scottish wife over France! He picks his Scottish wife's country over his own! Elisabeth, that boy picked his bastard over his country, his unborn heir! that boy ruined years of his reign playing house with a whore! And now he focuses his attentions on his little family over his country! Your father was awful to you, but he was a damned good King! He threw away over a decade and a half of knowledge that was passed down to him in an instant! He doesn't care that I am not in his life anymore, the person who loves him the most! He always picked Scotland over France, his wife over France! His bastard over France! He is so naive and easily manipulated that it takes this much deception to put it right! He must act like your father, a King! And he is not! He is ruining France with his bad choices! He could loose France! I must take it and protect it until he can!"

"Bye, papa!" young James' voice smiled, as his nanny closed the door. He'd finished his morning cuddles with his mother, whom was still on bed rest, always having been so attached. Francis did his work in the corner, constantly taking glances at his wife and heir all the while.

As the door closed, Francis turned his head to his wife, watching the way her face contorted with discomfort as she slept in their bed. It had been three days since Castleroy's death, Greer sent off to a neighbouring country house to grieve whilst her children stayed at court, oblivious to the true horrors of their parents true whereabouts. Mary had taken to her bed -upon physician's instructions- as they awaited the imminent birth of the royal heir. She was barely allowed to leave for fear of endangering the baby. Mary obeyed, but she got restless doing nothing all day, trying her best not to worry for her dearest friend and about her mother in law, who had been suspiciously quiet over the last few days.

The calm before the storm, Francis thought to himself, listening to the slightly laboured breaths his wife gave out, congestion being a cruel symptom of pregnancy. He knew, from his childhood and adolescence, that a silent Catherine de Medici was more frightening than a present Catherine de Medici. And knew that her revenge would be harsher should she be left to stew for too long.

We know where she is, Francis could see in his elder, half brothers' eyes as they spoke to Leith and James, so why can't we take her?

The truth was, Francis wondered that, too.

Gentle Elisabeth -a loyal Frenchwoman who obeyed her King- had been feeding them information from both their letters and Mary and Greer's working girls. He wondered if Catherine knew that her daughter was betraying her. He also knew that there would be no confrontation between Elisabeth and Catherine should the latter discover of the former's justified betrayal. Catherine de Medici would never harm her children, even her resented daughters. They would always be safe from her wrath.

But, if that is so, he reasoned. Why does she betray me? he asked his half brother, their words silent but conversation clear. Her favourite, the one who she pulled two countries apart for. Why does she threaten to destroy once more?

I don't know, brother. Sebastian said. But I promised you and I promised your sons, I will defend you from any threat. Even from Catherine de Medici.

She really was a fascinating woman, one whom deluded herself into thinking her actions were justified and true. Anybody could see that she was doing the wrong thing. Anybody could see that these actions were wrong and would eventually lead to conflict and bloodshed. But, what nobody could really see was why? Why Catherine de Medici was betraying them so, again? What could possibly justify such treason, the almost sealed suffering of young James and the unborn child Mary grew in her womb?

Not wanting to be away from Mary -as she was so far along in her pregnancy- Francis stayed in the room, but not wanting to awake her from the sleep she so deserved but so rarely attained, they stayed at the corner of the room, their voices quiet. Francis regularly looked over at his wife, observing every minute detail of her. The way she winced in her sleep, the variation of her breath, the paleness of her skin and the redness of her nose, the way she cupped her stomach and tried to get more comfortable as the Queen rested. His heart ached to see her suffer so, and he hated how he could do nothing to stop her suffering.

"We can't simply send French guards to pluck the woman from Spanish court." James huffed. "King Phillip would take it as an act of war." he said.

"So, what?" Leith asked, his face glum, somewhat older than usual. Francis sympathised with his friend. Tiny little Princess Odette had been caught down with fever for a few days, coughing into a tiny fist and clinging to her father through all the hours of the night. And, with so many ladies of the court growing with child -Mary and both her ladies were pregnant, including almost a dozen court nobles- he knew that Leith pined for the long dead Princess Claude, who had died a few weeks before Francis' return. "We just let Phillip attack France?" he said, repeating the information Princess Elisabeth had gotten to them that morning.

Plus, with so many midwives and physicians and nannies taking refuge in the Palace, the Duke of Langress was constantly reminded of Princess Claude's death. The mere thought of childbirth would always bring a chill to his spine, his wife and son forever in the ground because of it. With midwives and physicians taking refuge in their secluded palace -who would stay until Kenna and Bash's baby was stable and a few weeks old- and nannies being chosen from all across the Empire for the young future Prince or Princess, it sent a horrid pain through his chest.

Young, vibrant, wild, beautiful Claude. Forever gone and wilting in the dirt, far away in French soil. And the young Prince Nikolai, gone without the chance of even being on this earth. It hurt, it hurt so much. They had dreamed of children, a family, for so long. Even before being wed, and as they found out Claude was with child. And the birth of Odette had been a miracle. Claude matured and was so maternal to her little girl. But, ice cold reality burned when her heart stopped forever more.

And the pain was just as bad as that fateful day in northern France.

Alone with their daughter, being forced to watch Greer, this first real love, suffer how she was was maddening. Three children of her own, widowed and alone and unsure of her future. Castleroy's money was shaky at best, the estate he owned being granted to his eldest son, who was barely even eleven. She had her shares in it, her children would be okay, but to see her so alone and weakened after sacrificing everything she wanted for the security that would be taken away. It hurt. It hurt.

"Brother! Brother! Brother!" a voice yelled, rushing into the room. Glaring at his half brother who served as one of his pages, for his voice disturbed the Queen's resting, her scrunched up face and obvious irritation even in her sleep, Francis' dark gaze stopped the running of Henri de Saint-Rémy, one of his fathers' bastard sons. The man skidded to a stop.

"Brother." Francis said. "What is it?" he asked in French, knowing full well that Henri spoke not a word of English. "What is it? What troubles you so?" He asked his slightly elder half brother.

"My brother, my king, I received a note from the regent, Stéphane Narcisse, that Spanish troops have been spotted at the border, they have malicious intentions, your sister, Queen Elizabeth of Spain, has come back in court in a crisis of hysteria, claiming to have been betrayed by the queen mother, Catherine de Medici, and her husband, King Phillip of Spain."

"What?" Francis' tone was dark, darker than almost ever before. So dark that Sebastian shuddered to hear it. "This betrayal, this attack. Is it on the orders of my mother or the Spanish king?"

"The Spanish king gave the order, after many encouragement from the queen mother, my lord."

Francis growled audibly. Even Leith seemed so snap out of his depressed reviere and over to his friend and King. Sebastian stared at the young, blonde King. And the blonde King seemed to be growing even more irate by the second. Although, the Baron noticed, when his gaze fell to his Scottish wife, it softened a little.

"The Spanish, they're allied with the Hapsburg's, correct?" James suddenly said. Leith frowned.

"Yes, why is that relevant?"

"You don't remember, do you?"

"Remember what?" Bash asked.

"When Mary was six months gone with James." he said. Francis frowned at him. What did that mean? "The Hapsburg dynasty wanted to marry James into the dynasty, make it even more royal. Polute the royal bloodline with their filth." he spat. As powerful as the Hapsburg dynasty was, they were starting to be inbred, madness, ill health and destruction crumbling them from within. James looked to his half brother in law. "Mary refused to wed your son to one of their newborn daughters, knowing full well that his engagement to the Danish Princess Anne was a better one. As a result, they tried to start a revolution. It was one of the factors that lead to the Bourbon threat almost taking the French throne for themselves." he clarified. "And when he was seven months old, a second marriage was proposed. She refused, and they tried to kill James. With the Spanish's knowledge."

His words were met with silence.

"Sebastian." his voice was dark. Bash jumped and nodded.

"Yes, Francis?"

"Send for the Pirate Martine. Have him collect my dearest mother from her little holiday. It's time we end this, once and for all."

_"Lower the portcullis! By command of the king! But my men loosen the chains and let it fall!" _

_"Watch out!" _

_"Move!"_

_"They're coming!"_

_"Engage him and his men! They are traitors! Keep them off the ramparts!"_

_"Archers, loose!"_

_"Run."_

_"Run!"_

_"Back!"_

_"Everyone back!" _

_"Don't fire until they top the wall!"_

_"Hold for my command!"_

_"Hold!"_

_"Hold!"_

_"Fire!"_

_"Nock and ready for the next wave!" _

Sooner rather than later, the ship arrived at Dover. And the King of France and Emperor of Great Britain was right there to greet it. His deputy and brothers in law were in towe, watching quietly as Francis watched his mother thrown to the ground by the cackling pirates.

Francis chuckled angrily, looking down at his mother from his mount on his horse. "Clearly we should have taken your head when you last betrayed me, your grandsons." he hissed, the only people she hated hurting more than himself holding far more venom than his own name. "Now you've betrayed your nation by consorting with an enemy."

"I sought an alliance for the good of France!" she begged. "Francis, you must believe me! I love you!"

"You started a coup to take my country from me." he shook his head. He turned to Martine, Bash and Leith, nodding to his pirate ally. "You killed hundreds of my people, you nearly usurped my throne, you jeopardised James' rule. You could have lit the flame for my murder." he hissed. "That is not a mothers' love, it is a false Queen's ambition." he spat. "Take her."

"No, no! I'm a patriot! I am your mother." she begged on her knees, starting to thrash as Martine wrapped his arms around Catherine's torso and shove her into the cage with the tiger. "I will not be treated like an animal!" she screamed, as she struggled in vain as her feet scratched against the pale wood of her cage. She -somehow- hadn't seen the tiger just yet.

"You're wrong there." he turned his back on his mother, giving a nod to the pirate.

"You've met the pirate Martine." the King of France started.

"No." Catherine begged, seeing the enormous cat crawl towards her.

"Now meet his companion." Francis finished.

The big cat growled.

"No!" she screamed. "No! No! NO!"

Francis chuckled darkly, getting off of his horse and standing close to his mother who was locked in the cage. Catherine grabbed at Francis' riding coat, just touching him all over. Catherine grabbed her eldest sons' hand through the bars, kissing it and kissing it.

"We have many carriages," Francis yanked his hand away, stepping out of her arm span. "but few moving prisons. It's hard to say which of you needs thicker bars." Francis leaned down, so they were nose-to-nose, but not touching. "But I know who will suffer more."

"Stop, Francis!" Catherine cried as her son came towards her. She'd been interrogated for hours and hours by Sebastian and Leith, and Mary's own torturers. They hadn't used the rack or the wheel yet, but small cuts around her ribs as she was tied down to a table caused quite a lot of pain than Catherine realised.

"Stop what? Trying to find out why you betrayed me and caused a seige in France? I am a King, you should know that a King stops at nothing to get what he wants."

"You think I went to Spain of my own accord? I could have gone to your precious England or Scotland and started a riot there. Would you like to know why I went to Spain?" her voice was back to that icy, oh so Catherine, tone, all pretence of pain and fear gone.

"To destroy an alliance that Father made and try to destroy my country and marriage? Mary may not know all the things you have done, I don't wish to worry her now. But she will, and her council will ratify what to do with you. To try and attack the country that Mary has made her own, destroy my marriage?"

"Those were not my main reasoning to go to Spain. Would you like to know the first? The main tie to myself and Spain?"

"Your daughter."

"Elisabeth? No. My first link to Spain before this all started?"

"What? Mother, what?" Francis spat.

"An engagement."

Francis frowned silently.

"Marry my James off to a Spanish Princess? You know how tumultuous the history between England and Spain is. He is still an English Prince."

"Not James. Although, one of your sons."

"Enough with this trickery!" he yelled. Catherine jumped, never having gotten used to her golden child raising his voice at her. "Enough with the espionage and enough with the riddles. Tell me, for the love of God!"

"Lady Lola." Catherine breathlessly smirked. Francis glared. "Your precious, innocent little harlot has been planning to marry John off to a daughter of Spanish and Hapsburg blood.I saw her speaking with the envoy, and it was my ticket to salvation. I may have betrayed you, but that foolish little harlot is plotting your destruction. She wishes to wed your son to your wife's enemy."


	25. Chapter 25

"Leith! Bash!" Francis yelled, storming up into the Palace's hallways from the dungeons. From their perch at the curved windows, the French nobles lunged from their perches at the window seats, taking double quick steps to get over to the blonde haired King, who was infuriated in a way neither had seen in a long time. Francis' face was set and stony, dark and growing stormier by the second.

"Brother, what is it?" Sebastian asked. His brow was furrowed and a hand was placed on the grey satin and red embroidery of his doublet. A crease was in his brow, his own mouth set in a frown, although his was more confused than angry. "What did she say?"

From beside him, Leith took another step closer. Green eyes were a dark emerald as he observed the King of France, who was damn near trembling in rage. He and Bash shared a look before glancing back at the Emperor, who spoke quickly.

"That damned, stupid little girl! How could she do that?! Francis growled, walking away from the two deputies of France and over towards the hallways once more.

Even more confused than ever, Leith and Bash trailed their King, who was muttering angrily to himself. They went through corridor after corridor, each one all stone walls, large portraiture and burning candles, walking against the red velvet carpeting. The trio finally stopped when Bash tired of chasing his little brother like his little brother had chased another, gripping his shoulder and spinning him around.

Francis' face was now slightly red and blotchy, his eyes swollen and expression still as stony and dark as before. Sebastian inhaled as he watched the younger breathe in shakily.

"What is it?" Bash asked slowly. "What did she tell you?"

"I'm such a fool." Francis said.

"What?" Bash frowned.

"All this time, she's served her own agenda, using me for all I could give her, again!" he snapped. "Why am I so stupid when it comes to her, good God, what is wrong with me?" he gripped his own curls.

"Stop blabbering." Bash smacked his brothers' elbow. Francis lowered his arms. "I may be pagan, but I am not a seer, nor a telepath. What on earth are you talking about?" he asked. Leith gave him a look. "My mother was a pagan." he clarified. "I take it you didn't know?"

"No." Leith said it like a question.

Bash turned to Francis. "What is it?"

"Lola." was the only word. Sebastian frowned.

"What of her? She's sold off to the Sir-" Bash trialled off. "I can't remember his name." he shook his head. "But that's not the point. She's sold to him, lives with John in Wales. What on earth could she have to do with your mother?"

"Foolish little girl," Francis grumbled. "She's been plotting against us!" he declared. "Against us all for months!" he said, his voice loud.

"Lola?" Bash frowned. "How?"

"The Hapsburg's." Francis started. "They've been secretly organising an engagement between John and one of their young daughters!"

"But John's a bastard." Leith pointed out. The Valois blooded brothers gave him a look of their own."I mean no offence, but he is. He has no future. Why would a powerful family such as the Hapsburg's set their sights on an illegitimate child of a King who has brought controversy to Europe?" Francis took a step closer. "You gave me this position that allows me to speak freely!" he said, his voice louder than usual, but not by much. Francis stopped his advances. "The Hapsburg's are powerful because they marry into monarchy, I highly doubt they'd waste a Hapsburg womb that would produce only bastards." he started. "Even a branch of them, such as the Von Amsberg family, wouldn't stoop to lower themselves to marry below their station. I mean this in the most politest of terms, but your eldest is nothing compared to them." But, his second to last sentence -more specifically the last ten words- held more bitterness, being on the receiving end of such a phrase when they were younger.

"He has a point. Your mother may be lying to you." Bash said, his voice slow. "She has a reputation of doing so." he added.

"What reason would the woman have? She was the one who wanted me to take Lola as my official mistress when Mary took James from France and fled to Scotland." Francis revealed, taking a step back from his joint deputies, resting against the cool stone, leaning his head back on them.

"What?" Sebastian asked, his voice definatley louder now. "Why would she do such a thing? Knowing you loved her so much, how heartbroken you were when you realised she and the Prince were gone? How you nearly crossed the channel almost eleven times before she called you back?" Bash rushed. "You didn't tell me she did that!"

Francis breathed a humourless chuckle. He was entertained by his brothers' outburst, not amused by his mothers' actions, both past and present. "To manipulate me into doing what she wanted again? To try and assert some sort of dominance over Mary after she took her crown and in ways, me? Delude herself into thinking she held the power of the Queen again, after my wife ruled as Consort and Regent for so long?" he guessed.

"She knows how much you love her and James, and this unborn baby. Why would she try and destroy it, forcing you in an unhappy marriage when you could have had a loving one? She damn near did that in France, Mary still may not return as she said, it's been over a year and a half. She saw how unhappy you were, and tried apparently to remedy it by throwing the Flemming woman at you. Look how well that worked out, you ended up in Scotland and in Mary's bed." Sebastian added.

"Maybe she thought that you'd grow to love Lola in the way you do the Queen." Leith added into the conversation. "Thought that she'd do you good, that she'd be what you need and not what you want, your wife and son." he said.

"Or just did it to manipulate me into being her little puppet to rule again, how the regent did Mary for months before she stopped it." he said, still feeling that chill of regret up his spine when he thought of the repercussions of Henry's murder. For all of his plans to save them all, all it had done for months was give a nobleman more power, make his wife suffer torment -pregnant, no less- until she found a way to stop it.

"Don't think of that, or the attack. You know what they did, what they tried to do, and Mary recovered. There's no point in thinking otherwise, Stephane is loyal now." Bash said.

His torment on the Queen had added to the risk of loosing the baby, something in which he both did and didn't want. He wanted a strong, Catholic leader, but wanted to that ruler to rule his way. It had added up to one night, an attack on the castle just after Sebastian and Mary had murdered four other men. They -and Leith and the soldiers loyal to France, Scotland and the Duke De Guise- had just gotten back from battle, one of the first times Mary had gotten physical in the field before she sat the generals down to talk after everybody suffered enough to appease both sides. That night, Mary had defended herself from rape, but just barely. They had beat her and held her down, touched her, before defences, both trained and instinctual, had kicked in. All of them had been murdered that night and the following. Besides, she'd gotten a few shots in on her assailants, too. They had been beaten and bloodied as much as the Queen had. She'd been shaken more for her child than her trauma. But, they hadn't ruined either of them. The speech she'd given -with Catherine's instructions- had been strong and shaky, but they had both recovered.

They weren't sure that James was even still inside her at that point. She'd bled for Francis multiple times, cried in pain and yelled in anguish when it happened. But, she still showed pregnancy symptoms, a few days later starting to properly show, the first real sign of James' survival inside his mother. He had truly been their light in those times.

And Francis hated himself for doing that to them all. For leaving them all to clean up his mess whilst playing house in Italy. It was such a foolish decision that damn near cost him everything.

"We're getting off point." he rushed. Leith nodded once. Francis looked to his dearest friend. "We must find out what she says is true. Send for Martine again, have him and his spies and followers find Lola. Inform Mary and Greer's-" the trio traded weary smiles for the woman in such pain that had grown to be rather important to them. "working girls, find out what they know, make them know more. Don't reveal too much just yet. And when we have the information, we'll go to the source."

Leith nodded, bowed and left.

"You speak of your wife's working girls." Bash said. Francis turned to him. "What of her?"

Francis frowned.

"Are you going to tell her of this? Rule together with no secrets, the first thing you promised her all those months ago?"

He froze.

"I don't want to stress her out. With the baby so close and Greer's ordeal, Kenna's own pregnancy-"

"Don't make excuses. I warned you when she left, brother. If you push Mary away too hard, you may not be able to get her back." Sebastian warned.

"Aunt," Sara said. Mary looked up from Greer's blonde hair to her bastard niece, watching the children scurry around with James quickly. Her elder bastard brother, John Stewart, was long dead, one of the more protective of her bastard brothers. It happened dead two years after Francis' alleged death and just a few months short of his miraculous return to French Court.

John had died defending his half sister, leaving behind young Francis Stewart -named by Mary herself in her husbands' memory- and his wife. The boy wasn't even a year old at that time of his fathers' death, but the young child prospered in his aunt's court, having followed James around after falling into his aunts' custody along with the others.

Whilst she loved all of her nieces and nephews, the Empress couldn't deny that she felt particular affection to this little boy, who was just as sweet and loving as James. Maybe it was because James was so dear to him and he made her beloved child so happy, maybe it was because he was another beacon to get her through that tumultuous marriage to Henry and the remnants of the grief she felt for Francis until he came back from the grave.

The two children -along with George and Rose and Meredith and Odette- giggled and laughed amongst each other, rolling around the flooring with inflated, coloured balls and small trinkets adorning them and the spaces near them. It was a world away from the sadness in the Empress' bed, that childish love and laughter.

Mary lay in her bed, propped up by pillows, her bump tucked away in a mint green chiffon gown adorned with lace at the bodice. On her shoulders, a thick brown fur. Her legs were covered in a sea of the material, curled slightly behind her. On them, Greer lay in dark blue satin gown, early maternity sticking out of the stiff dress. A diamond belt accentuated the four month old bump, undetectable unless looking for it. She lay, pale and silent, on her Queen's lap, looking at the wall, barely glancing at Sara as she stood there staring at them, seeming to be rather concerned, her hair falling out of it's braid.

Beside Mary, Kenna lay in the bed. Dark pink lace adorned her arms, wrapped up in a white fur. Her large bump stuck out of the puffy skirt, and she held Greer's hand. Kenna had been quiet since Castleroy's death not that long ago, her heart aching for her dear friend, concerned for the life she grew within her.

Mary's fur was thicker than Kenna's, her child being the most politically important out of the three, so she was more cared for than the others. But, her blanket lay across Greer's back, also. She hated being cared for than her ladies, especially in their vulnerable state, even if she knew the reason why.

She glanced back at Greer, as she shifted to see Sara. How her heart ached for the young widow, she brushed her fingers through her long blonde locks. Rose and George still didn't know. They were told by Kenna that 'Papa was on a business trip and would come back as soon as they were able', being too young to understand where their father actually was.

Mary looked back at her young niece, blinking owlishly.

"What is it?" she asked.

"My uncle, the Emperor wishes to see you."

"Of course, send him in." she said.

Francis came into the room. He was donned in all blacks, not unusual at all for his lesser Kingly wear clothes. A pair of black leather boots and slacks, a white tunic and a satin waistcoat adorned in gold. A doublet of black velvet and a coat of black fur.

She frowned a little. He hated wearing those cumbersome fur coats. He never did it willingly.

"Uncle!" voices cried, the children stopping their tussling to rush over to him. Smiling reluctantly, Francis knelt to greet them.

"Papa!" James chirped. The King was tackled in a collection of embraces and soft giggles. He looked at them all, observing the slight differences within them all, and the similarities of the young Scottish Count and the young Dauphin.

"I must speak to your mother, okay?" he asked his son. James nodded quickly.

"Come, you." Sara said. "Let us go to the kitchens, see if your pork and crandberry pies are out of the oven. You may warm up with some warm honey and milk, as well as marsipan if you behave." she smiled.

Leading a troupe of cheering children, Sara left the room.

"Francis, what is it?" Mary asked. He helped her from the bed and set her on one of the settees close to the fire.

"You are aware that Martine captured my mother from Spain? That they returned three days ago?"

"Of course, what of it?" she asked her husband.

"She told me something that you will not like."

"What?"

"She tells me the reason she got passage to Spain was because-" Francis paused. Mary blinked at him expectantly, like she did when they were children and it was his turn to read aloud. "because she saw Lola negotiating with a Spaniard." Mary narrowed her eyes. "Mother tells me that Lola has been plotting to marry our son off -her's and I- to the Hapsburg's."

"My enemy, even more than the Spanish?" Mary questioned, but it wasn't a question.

"Yes, Love. Leith is looking into it." he said, taking her hands, his voice expressing his nervousness.

Mary narrowed her eyes. Francis gulped. "Have James look into it, get Martine to fetch her from wherever she is. I have given her every opportunity to be free, and here she is. I am done helping her." Mary glared.

"Love, I don't think-"

"Think nothing." Mary spat. "I am going to find her and she is going to finally pay for betraying me." she clenched a fist. "She will be brought to me and-"

"No, you can't. Not until you've given birth to our child." he interrupted, placing a hand on her swollen stomach. "You're due any day now!"

"Yes, I am pregnant. But I am not sick." she reminded him. "I am not dying and I am no invalid! I will not be cooped up here like some precious stone! Yes, I could die when our child comes into the world-" she stopped as Francis' hand tightened over her wrist, fearing the mention of death as much as she didn't want to admit she did, too. "I will not waste this opportunity to finally make her pay for all she's done!"

The heavily pregnant Empress rode proudly towards the fallen woman being held up by the cackling pirates. Donned in black and silver, Mary narrowed her eyes at Lola, the married harlot dishevelled and torn from her self caused ordeal. She pulled slightly on the reigns, her black haired stallion scowling to a halt. The intelligent horse obeyed its mistress better than the Lady did, Mary thought, watching as Lola was released and collapsed heavily to the ground.

"Mary." Lola gasped. Her face was dirty and she looked exhausted.

"Clearly I should have taken your head the last time you betrayed me." Mary announced, the sun glistening on the diamonds of her diadem, making it glisten. "But I let you go, only to have you betray your nation by censoring with an enemy who wishes my destruction." The raven haired beauty hissed, her eyes darker than Lola's ripped and torn, bloody gown.

"Please, let me-" Lola panted.

"Do not insult me with any more of your lies." Mary glared. "I have had enough with you and them. I gave you a chance, a chance to abandon this life and start anew, but you do this? Why?" Mary asked. But she didn't let Lola speak. "Because you are a twisted, demented little troll just desperate to be me." Mary finisher.

"No, I-"

"Address me with respect." Mary snapped, words dripping with royal authority.

"Your Majesty," Lola began. "please, do not do this. After everything we've been through, after everything we were!"

"You want me to sit there and pacify you through your treasonous punishment? Forgive you for helping my enemy and bringing shame to Scottish nobility all together? Coddle you first conceiving a bastard child with no future, sired by none other than the father of my children? Mary asked. "Please," she chuckled, thick, long, shiny onyx hair swinging from side to side as she turned her head from right to left in quick succession. "Please." Mary chuckled again. "Do not make me laugh, would I really be so stupid as to accept you after all you've done to me? My realm, my family, my son, my unborn baby?" she asked. "I will not protect you from yourself any more." the empress finished.

"I will do anything, you may justifiably make me suffer for what I've done, but do not hurt my son. I did this for him!" Lola cried.

"Who said a thing about John?" Mary asked. "After all of this, he is innocent. And until he grows to make his own choices, he always will be. But you, sweet, innocent little Lola. You will not be granted my mercy any longer."

_"Why are you doing this?" Lola asked, slowly standing from the settee in the Dauphine's chambers and walking over to said Dauphine. Said Dauphine sat at her desk, slowly writing to Jacques Von Lorraine, apologising formally for Lola's rejection of his proposal three nights previous. Another piece of parchment sat near her, already addressed to another suite, the Lord Jasper Arianne._

_"Doing what?" Mary asked, her voice monotone._

_"This." Lola gestures to the both of them. "Helping me. Why?"_

_"I have my reasons, none of which concern you." Mary almost snapped, sending a quick glare to her lady, before starting to write again._

_"I cant believe this." she said softly, after a few minutes of silence, broken by nothing put the crackling of the fire and the scratching of quill on parchment._

_"What?" Mary said, voice dripping with irritation. Shed finished the first letter and went onto the other, elegant curvature starting to decorate the cream parchment._

_"You're helping me." Lola answered, careful not to annoy her furthermore. Mary looked her straight into the eye._

_"Why wouldn't I help you?" Mary asked. She seemed genuinely confused._

_"Because of what I did." Lola replied, her eyes suddenly filling with tears. Mary blinked at her. She'd seemed almost desensitised by Lola's situation over the past few days. "Laying with Francis, getting pregnant, betraying you." Lola rambled, small tears falling down her cheeks._

_"You are correct." Mary said, her voice was casual now. "You betrayed me. You betrayed my trust. You betrayed our friendship. You betrayed everything I stand for in this God forsaken world. Make no mistake, I have not forgiven you. I will not forgive you. Part of me wishes to kill you, take your head and drip your blood and forget you even existed at all." Mary shamelessly explained. Lola sobbed. "But, I cannot do that. I will not." Lola looked up at her. "I am a Queen, not a betrayed, angry girl. French Court has taught me to be a Queen, not to act on impulse. I will find you a husband, never let Francis find out and never let the world know of this." Mary paused. "You let me down, Lola. You made a bad choice, one with consiqenses larger than you will ever be able to fathom. You let me down!"_

_"Then why are you helping me?" Lola sobbed._

_"Why?" Mary asked. "Because do you think that I care about you so little, that betraying me would have the slightest bit of difference to my love for you, you both?" Mary asked._

_Lola's lips parted, sobs trickling over them. She placed her hands on her flat abdomen, holding it tight, gasping for breath as her Queen continued to write in silence. She did so until Lola spoke again, but her words were watery and choked._

_"Mary, please. I cannot stand this compassion any longer. Get angry with me, exile me, attack me, strip me of my land and my title, ruin me! Anything but protect me!" Lola sobbed. "Your compassion is a worse punishment than anything else."_

_"That is exactly why I am doing this. You spending the rest of your life punishing yourself is a worse punishment than I could ever hand out. That's why I am doing this. Because your punishment is security."_

_"I-i-"_

_"I am the Queen of Scotland. You are my subject. I have a duty, a God given right to protect you and all those who are like you. And I will. I was chosen to, so I will. I will protect you from yourself and your foolish choices. I will find you a husband and let him claim that child, and I will make sure you are happy. Even if it kills me."_

_Her lips parted in a gasp. Knees buckled, blue and silver floral skirt hitting the floor as she collapsed._

_"This makes it worse! This makes it worse!" she cried, over and over again. Mary did nothing. She let her cry. It had been a matter of days since Mary had found out about the bastard pregnancy, and no manner of anger or distrust had been shown from Queen to Lady. Only help. Only stone cold help._

_"In real life, having the courage to feel your feelings and emerge from harsh circumstances with a core part of yourself still tender and caring is the bravest thing any royal, and person, could ever do. It takes the greatest strength. It is the bravest way to live." Mary said, her voice dripping with royal authority and intelligence. _

_"You are such a better woman than I am, Mary. Such a better woman." Lola breathed, still on her knees. "I don't deserve you. I don't. I don't deserve your kindness, your protection. I know that I don't, I know that. I don't understand why you continue to protect me. I've done so much-" she continued going on._

_"Stop grovelling." Mary demanded, rolling her eyes. "Flattery will not get you anywhere this time. We've got work to do now." she finished._

_Lola wouldn't ruin her marriage further. Mary would make sure of it._

Inhaling sharply, the Empress opened her eyes. The golden orbs glittered in the dim light of the winter kissed dungeons, lit only by a few candles and torches placed sparsely around the dungeon walls.

These flashback dreams really had to stop. She silently thought, biting her lip. Why would she think of such matters, now of all times? It had been five days since they had caught Lola -who had been attempting to flee to Ireland to ensure John's now dissolved engagement- and brought her back to England. She would be dealt with in time, after the baby was born and after she herself was churched. For now, the dame spent her days and nights in the tower, whilst her son was cared for in one of the nurseries that noble children stayed in whilst they visited.

Mary had planned to see Catherine this day, to finally get some information about the scheming Medici Queen, but that was proving to be easier said than done. She'd had to sneak down to the dungeon whilst Francis was in a rare meeting -he preferred spending his time with his sons when eh wasn't fretting over her and the baby, as well as talking to Bash and Leith about French politics- and even had to wait until the guards change to finally get to the door that held her mother-in-law.

She rested on the cold stone of the dungeons, every intent of visiting Catherine de Medici to talk for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. However, the child inside her protested vehemently, going so far as to let out sharp kicks that increased with every step his mother took, some so stiff that they affected her centre of balance. It seemed that the baby knew that Catherine was dangerous, even more so when she was silent than when she was out in the open. It seemed to warn his mother of the danger ahead, refusing to enter somewhere where the ambience wasn't as calm and collected as he wanted.

She rested on the stone, trying to breathe through the general pain of late pregnancy and the pain of her unborn baby's hard kicks. Shaking away the cobwebs of dizziness from her vision, the Queen opened her eyes and straightened up, moving a hand down to support the substantial weight of the child inside of her. The dark red velvet gown she wore accentuated the growing bump, long white and grey cur cape dwarfing her figure, containing the child safely.

"Majesty," a guard nearby said. "are you well?" he asked

"Yes, quite well." she nodded. "I think I will retire, the King's child causes me fatigue." she used the more Queenly voice she had to address the dark haired man in silver, and the aforementioned guard nodded and wrapped an arm around her back, guiding his Empress back up the staircases and hallways that lead to the royal bedchambers.

Mary lay upon her bed and the guard bowed out. She sighed, looking up at the roof of the impressive bed frame. As much as she appreciated the concern, everybody -even the children- treated her like glass. She was pregnant, not unwell. She was perfectly capable of holding a blanket or walking up and down staircases by herself.

She heard the clasp on the door open, then gently shut again.

"Mama?" her son's little voice floated through the air. She smiled softly, sitting up against the pillows to see the child.

"My love." Mary smiled.

He crawled onto the bed, settling into the white chiffon and silk sheets, his big golden eyes glancing all around the fine blankets and furs, the lace and the satin before looking deep into his mothers' eyes.

Mary cocked her head to one side, observing the clear distress that her boy showed.

"What's wrong, love?" she brushed an errant curl from his face.

"Papa." he pouted. Mary blinked. As soon as Francis had taken James out riding before they even knew about the baby, the son had taken to his father like a duck to water. They had been so close and happy around each other for months. So, how could Francis have upset the boy that he so adored?

"What about him?" Mary asked, running her long fingers down James' little arms until she found his fingers, gently holding his little hand.

"He's doing it again." James let out. Mary blinked again.

"Doing what, my love?"

"Spending all his time with the mean boy again." he revealed.

Mary's lips parted to answer, in an attempt to make her boy understand that Francis had another son that he had to take care of and love and parent, but the last word caught her attention. Again? What could that possibly mean, but the horrid obvious?

"Again?" Mary asked. "What do you mean again?" she asked, but she wasn't so sure she wanted to hear the answer, afraid of her boy being upset and her unborn child suffering.

"Don't you remember? Just after he came to home, he was always with the Lady with the curly hair. He always spent time with her and that little boy who looks like him. And when he was living with Uncail James, Bothwell-" James clarified. "he spent all his time with them. And in Papa's castle, always then. Why does he do that, mama? Who's the boy?"

She was tongue tied. Damn him! For all of his efforts to be a good father to James, all those proclamations of how much he adored him and would do everything right, he does this? Plays favourites once again, leaves him when James needs him the most? She couldn't be with him a lot now with the baby inside her, and they'd agreed that he would be his main caregiver until Mary could assume that position, but he does this?

Never mind the fact that Mary had no idea how to explain to her son why Francis spent so much time with John. And she also had no idea how to explain who John even was, why Francis had another child with another woman, why that boy and that woman were the reasons why James went so long without a father in his life.

Could you not be so sentimental, just this once? Mary thought to her husband.

"Well, love-" she slowly began. "that boy is very special to your Papa." she started. Okay, this could be going worse, she admitted to herself. "and he grew very close to him when you were inside me, how your brother or sister is right now." she paused again, placing James' tiny hand on her large bump. "The boy is that woman's child, you know that?" James nodded. "And the boy isn't around your father much any more, because that woman married a man and moved far away." she paused again, trying ever so hard to think of the right words. "And your father misses him when he is gone, because he loves that boy."

"More than he loves me?" James interjected.

Once again, the Empress was tongue tied. Mary thought back to when she was a child in France, when she could leave little Francis tongue tied with little more than a mere look. Well, James was doing a fine job of repaying the favour, she thought to herself once more.

"No, he loves you both equally." she said, trying not to reveal the true connection of the two boys who couldn't stand each other. She could see the jealousy and the mistrust in her boys' eyes.

"Why?" the crown prince demanded.

She swallowed thickly.

"Because he watched that little boy grow up. Your father and the little boys' mother are very close friends." she forced out, trying not to grit her teeth. "And he loves you because you're his son, and because you carry my blood."

"But if Papa loves that boy just as much, why does the little boy not like me and Meri and George and Rose?" he asked. "He was being taken out of the playroom when we all went into it, and he gave little Francis the meanest of looks. Why, mama?"

She stumbled over her words for a few moments, before quickly replying at the almost stern look her boy shot her.

"I believe he wishes he was you. That he held my blood, and that everybody was nice to him."

"But I'm nice to him! I tried to be, but I won't be to somebody who throws things at little Rose and yells so much that it makes Meri cry!" he demanded.

"I know, sweet boy. I know." she soothed, running a hand down his little silk tunic. "He wants older people to be nice to him, people like your uncles and aunt, those boring courtiers who make mama and papa bored every time they want something." she said, trying to cheer him.

"Who's the mean boys' papa, mama?" he asked.

Mary choked, but she held it down. "It could be one man, but he's up in the sky with my mama and papa. Or, it could be another man. It is difficult to tell." she said, trying to play it off, stop James' questions and prevent him from asking more.

Mary didn't want him knowing who John actually was like this. She wanted him older, old enough to understand. And, to have Francis with her when she did find a way to tell him. She tried to speak to him with a gentle tone, trying so very hard to keep venom from her words, knowing damn well Francis didn't take Lola's virtue that night in Paris. The little whore, Mary thought. At least I married the man who took mine. She thought, rolling her eyes. And I didn't send hers to his death. She added, remembering the stupid words Lola had said in one of their first few nights in France post convent.

"How do I make papa be with me and not him?"

"You wait your turn, precious." she tried to explain, brushing some errant waves from his forehead.

"But I don't want to! He spent all day with him!"

"Maybe he'll spend all day with you tomorrow." she supplied, kissing his head as he lay down next to her, curling into her body, silky black curls pressing against her neck.

"Don't want to. I want to stay with you, mama. You never leave me."

She kissed his cheek. "And I never will." she affirmed.


	26. Chapter 26

"It's been a long time." was the only thing Mary said, raising her chin. She rested as much as she could in the cold, damp dungeon, but the dim light illuminating the disheveled figure of Catherine de Medici concerned her. Clinging tightly to her hand, her black velvet clad baby stood next to her. He hadn't said a word since Mary told him she would be seeing his grandmother today. And, because he hadn't left her side since he came to her the night before, James insisted on coming with her, begging off staying with his cousins. Even though he seemed quite uncomfortable being here, clearly -as he'd always done even as a newborn- unsettled by his mothers almost undetectable distress. It didn't seem like Catherine could see it, but James knew. James always knew.

But even if she could sense it, Catherine didn't show it. Because, of course, she had spent all of the few seconds the mother-son duo had spent in her new humble abode staring at Mary's large stomach. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted. One hand on her heart, remaining on her knees on the damp stone floor. Mary could see the shock and tears in Catherine's eyes. And she honestly seemed to not know that Mary was with child.

Her lips parted once more, still staring at her stomach. It was covered in black satin and tulle, a red velvet shawl and a black fur house coat that dwarfed her body. Beside her, her boy was donned in black velvet and silver satin embroidery, and a fur cape that left only his head, a part of the doublet and a slither of his little boots and slacks. He clung to her hand still, even tighter when his grandmother's eyes fell to him.

"James." Catherine whispered. He swallowed audibly, a far cry of his precious reactions to his grandmother's presence in France. His eyes lit up when he saw her, but not now.

He nodded slowly, not saying a word.

"How long has it been?" Catherine asked Mary. The Empress narrowed her eyes.

"Two years, I suppose, at least." was the cold response. "Of your own violation." she glared.

"You left." Catherine crulely reminded her, seeming to be over her shock and back to her old self. "You left Francis. You left France, and you took that sweet baby with you." she hissed.

"You had every opportunity to see your grandson, more than a dozen passed you by. And you know why I left France. I warned Francis that if he claimed that child, he would be lost to me and I would leave with my child. And you manipulated him into doing so." she hissed back, not scared of Catherine in the slightest.

"You didn't have to. You didn't have to deny James a father. You could have adjusted in time."

Mary laughed. "No, no, no. I do believe it was Francis himself who denied James a father. He ran away from us in the plague, abandoned him and I. Then spent two years of his life playing house with Lola and John. That, you cannot deny."

"Maybe so. But clearly, my son was settled there." Catherine smirked. "He was. It does not take two years to round up enough fare to make it back to France. He was happy, being a father. Not a king, damn sure not an emperor. He was contented with Lola and John. They made a life together. You couldn't handle seeing them together, happy, and ran away like a scared little girl!"

"He ran away!" Mary snapped. "He ran away from his responsibilities as King, ran to my friend like a romantic hero and rode off into the sunset with them! He abandoned you, too! After all you did to keep him alive in the whole prophecy ordeal, your undying love for him has to be put to the test as he nearly brought his own death by his own hand! Why didn't you lash out at him, he nearly killed himself, your beloved golden child! Instead, you justify all he did as if he is some angel done wrong, as I punish him for his abandonment of his wife and legitimate son! No, you forgave him quicker than a heartbeat and started manipulating him to get what you wanted! For all your frantic motherly attributes, being a laughable Queen, before I was wed to him, you sure acted a Queen then!" Mary snapped, taking a few steps closer.

"You are a mother, you are going to have another child!" Catherine snapped, getting to her feet. "You should know what that means! You should know that you'd sacrifice everything for your child's happiness!" Catherine replied.

"Yes, I would. But I wouldnt burn an international alliance and marriage just so he wouldnt have to act like a king!" Mary snapped again. "You will always be on your son's side, I know and accept that. But what you did not have to do is betray your innocent grandchild and heard us away like we were irritant cattle!"

"I did it because I knew that he would have you!" Catherine came close, but stopped as Mary pulled James behind her. "He would always have you, he would always have a country in Scotland, England! He would always have a future in your empire! I did what I did because I lost him for two years, thinking he was dead, lost to me forever! And when I got him back, I wanted him to be happy! I did what I did as I knew that James would be okay, so would you, and Francis would be happy raising his son!" Catherine exclaimed. Mary's lips parted and she quickly turned from Catherine and knelt down in front of James. They hasn't told him of his true connection to the little boy who caused him such young angst.

"Mama-" he trailed.

"It's alright. You dont have to worry about that, precious. I will explain it all to you later, okay?" she tried to gently explain. "How about I get your uncle and have him take you up to your cousins, have some coco and sugared almonds brought up?" she asked, knowing that she shouldn't be arguing with somebody in front of James. But, he shook his head and wrapped his arms around her neck. She looked up at Catherine as she took a step towards them.

"You didn't tell him?" she questioned.

"How can I? He's a child. He wouldn't understand." she said. Mary stood up with minor difficulty and looked down at Catherine. She had a good eight inches on the Medici woman.

"Mary, I-"

"No. You manipulated my husband to listen to you and you alone. It honestly wouldn't surprise me if you simply wanted to use him as a puppet, rule France through him."

"I did nothing like that! And I'm not the only manipulator, am I? The moment you got my son into your country, you poisoned his mind against me! Turned him from my council and had him listened only to you!"

"He's a man! Not a child! He shouldn't listen to maman's council for the rest of his life, forgive me for allowing him to think for himself and rule for himself! You're justifiably allowed to make him as happy as you wish, but it does not give you the right to try and ruin my country out of bone-idel stupidness and jealousy!"

"You don't need to-"

"No! Is the issue of Francis possibly loving somebody else more than you so threatening? That you're so scared of the prospect of another woman becoming the most important female in his life so terrifying that you'd run to my enemy and start a war?!" she yelled.

"I know what I did was wr-" she stopped. "War? What do you mean war?"

"What else can I mean by war? You lit the flame for a siege on Fontainbleaneau. You ran to my enemy, King Phillip of Spain, told him my secrets, both political and personal, and started a war! He's well on his way to dearest battle on my country! Because of you!"

"I didn't want it to go that far! I just wanted you to feel what you made me feel! I wanted you to know the pain and uncertainty of the one that you love the most going to another! Of feeling your position that you worked do damned hard for, all the tears and the trials and the tribulations all to amount to naught!" Catherine snapped, tears budding in her eyes.

"Jealousy." Mary said. "Simple jealousy!"

"Yes! Did it really take that long to understand? Your youth, beauty, bravery, even your royal blood." Catherine's voice grew quiet. "You surpass me in every way. The lack of time between marriage and children, the ease of getting pregnant, your marriage. Such a sacred union being born of and maintaining love. I was -am- jealous of you. That's why I did what I did. All of it."

Mary stood silently. "If that is true, then you owe it to Francis and moreso James to make this right. Your petty jealousy will not shake his future."

Catherine didn't very respond to her. She just looked behind Mary to her little son, who hid behind her legs. He still held a hand, but his little head poked out from behind them and stared at his grandmother that he hasn't seen in years.

She went to take a step forward. But, with the combination of being a whitness to the arguement, the mistrust and the undying love for his mother or the raggedy appearance of messy orange curls and a ripped white shirt, James inhaled sharply and stepped back. His fingers tightened around his mothers'. And, upon seeing the genuine fear in her boy's pretty eyes, it became the last straw.

Instantly, despite better judgement, Mary picked him up and rested him on her lip, holding him tightly to her as James turned from Catherine and made small sounds into his mothers' neck.

"But," Mary continued. "It appears that you have a mighty fine way to go before any of us trusts you again."

That next afternoon, Mary sought out to find her husband after so long without him. Soon, she wouldnt be able to get out of bed full stop -it was against Nostradamus' judgement to be walking around now- and wished to see her husband and tell him of his mothers' revelation. She hadn't seen him in days and found that she missed him terribly. Besides, she had to talk with him about his conduct with his sons.

"Leith," Mary called out. The Duke turned around and bowed low, young Odette in his arms. He bowed low, the little Princess even lowering her head.

"Imperial Majesty," he said. "how can I help?"

"Oh, Mary, please. We've talked of this." she said, smiling at the young Princess who prettily beamed back. "And yes, you can. Where is my husband? He's been absent lately."

"I've just been with him, Majesty, not three hours ago. He's in his older chambers." Leith replied, adjusting his daughter upon his hip.

"Thank you, Leith." she smiled. He bowed and walked away.

Mary blinked in surprise, starting to walk to the King of England's chambers, the one he slept in whilst she was indisposed or doing rare business.

Soon, she found herself outside the doors. Lacking the need to knock, Mary simply opened the door, cringing at the feeling of her feet and ankles burning.

"Love, where have you-" she trailed off, stopping her words and steps, watching the bed.

There, lay Francis indeed. But he wasn't alone. Fully clothed, he was curled to his eldest son. Their matching blonde hair fell upon the lilac satin pillows. Father and son were at peace, exhaustion clear in their features, the young boy holding into the wrapped hands that were around his middle.

But, that wasn't all she saw. In front of John lay his mother. Her hands were around her boy, curled up close to the both of them. The three of them there, the perfect little family, complete and whole.

Mary's lips parted, a gust of air leaving her lips. Her eyes widened somewhat, and she breathlessly stumbled backwards, a hand coming to rest upon her bump, another on a bookcase, keeping her up steady.

Old insecurity she hadn't felt since she was four months gone with James came flooding back. The three of them, whole and perfect, not including her. Never including her.

Hormonal and shocked tears flooded her eyes. Her heart thumped and her chest burned. The child inside her kicked hard, squirming around, a cramp running through her. Her feet pulsed in pain, and she stepped back again and again.

She sniffles, a hand resting on her thumping heart. Insecurity and fear pulsed through her. After all his proclamations of love and devotion, to her and their children, could it be all lies? Could he really have moved on with Lola, who she now realised wasn't in the tower as she should have been.

He let her out, came the breathtaking realisation. He took her out, defying her orders. He protected her against his wife's judgement.

Didn't that sound familiar?

She whimpered, leaving the room. The door closed and she tried her best to stifle the tears. How could this have happened? How long had it happened?

"Mama?" came the firmiliar response.

She sniffles, turning to James, who rushed over his mother. Falling to her knees, light pink satin and black lace and tulle hit the floor as James rushed into her arms.

"Mama?" he questions her as she pulled him into her arms. "What's happening, mama?"

"Nothing, love. I just love you and this baby so much. And I'm never going to leave you."

"Mary, where have you been? I haven't seen you in days." Francis smiled, entering the large chambers where Mary and James lay on the bed, eating from a box of chocolates and strawberries. Barely moving her head to greet her husband as he came close, Mary turned her head away again as he attempted to kiss her.

"What is it?" Francis frowned. "What's the matter?" the King questioned, watching as Mary untangle herself from the sheets, blankets and furs to stand from the bed, on the opposite side of him.

She didn't say a word.

Francis extended his arms to James, as if to grab him, but the boy did something he hadn't ever done, kicked his fathers hand away with a displeased squeal, before scrambling to his mother.

Mary wrapped her arms around her son, still perched upon the bed, staring hard at Francis.

"What is it?" Francis frowned. "What's going on?"

"Are you really that ignorant that you do not know what you've done to us?" she asked.

"What? Mary, I have no idea what you're talking about." Francis said.

"Really?" Mary chuckled. But it wasn't the happy, pleasures chuckle that she'd let out previously in this pregnancy, but the cold, Queenly chuckle that she only did while entertaining stubborn courtiers. "Judging by our children and the acts of their respective pregnancies, I know you're not the smartest in the world. But are you really that stupid?" she questioned harshly.

Francis blinked in surprise. But he did nothing. He said nothing.

"Ever since your bastard has been at my palace, you've completely neglected our son. So much so that he runs to me crying many days ago, and still, you do nothing." she spat. "You've abandoned him once before, and you do it the moment that child comes back into your life." she shook her head, looking down at him. "Do you love him that much? That you're willing to dissolve your marriage, your rule, your legitimate son's childhood just so John will be happy? Does he have that much of a hold over you? Do you favour him that much because of those two years? That you're willing to hurt this innocent boy, this innocent unborn baby, just to please him? Hint that could bring down so much and so many? Or are you simply desensitized to your heirs cries because he misses his papa and wonders what is so wrong with him that you would leave him!" she almost yelled.

"Mary, I-" he tried, but she cut him off.

"No! Not a word! I won't stand by and watch this any more! I will not let you harm my child, my baby any longer!" she snapped. "I thought you proved yourself, I thought you changed! That you'd be a good husband and a good father and a good King, a good Emperor! But you are not! You haven't changed one bit from that playboy prince I met years ago! So sentimental and selfish that you would burn others to raise yourself up! Truly, you are the son of Catherine de Medici. I see that now." she chuckled humourlessly. "You are still that stupid boy who ran off into plague like a knight in shining armour like you did four years ago. You told me you knew it was wrong! You told me you wouldn't do it again, but you practically have! I was so stupid to trust you again, so stupid to think that you changed for the better. So stupid that I thought you'd be a good father to our son, our unborn baby! But I was wrong! You favour your bastard and you always will." she hissed. All this time, he had been trying to interrupt, but she talked over him each time. Just like she did now. "Why won't you think like a King? Just for once, think like your father! He may have loved Bash more but Henry always knew that you were more important! You say you don't want to be like him, but be a damned King!" she snapped.

She saw his face burn red, but talked over him once more. All this time, James had been clinging to her. She held him tight. Mary knew it was wrong to argue in front of her baby, but it needed to be said. They couldn't keep going like this.

"Oh, you're angry, are you?" she asked rhetorically. "Are you going to pull your King card how you did on our coronation? How I was supposed to be subservient to you, at least in front of nobles? Let me tell you, you may be the man I love, my king, my emperor. But I do not fear you, not for a single second. I will not bow to you and I damn sure won't sit aside as you reverse history and repeat it!" she snapped.

"You do not talk to-"

"Stop!" Mary yelled. "About to pull your king card, the same way you started to create your beloved bastard in the first place? Let me pull my Empress, then. I out rank you in every single way, and especially in the role as parent." Feeling her baby's arms shake around her, Mary picked him up and held him on her hip again. Once again, she knew she probably shouldn't, being so far gone in pregnancy, but he needed to be held. She couldn't deny him the way francis had.

"Let me explain-"

"No! If you haven't been acting such an arse, there would be nothing to explain!" she yelled. "You claim to not want to be Henry, but you turn into him anyway! You've been favouring him since the moment he arrived!" Mary yelled. "And, to make matters worse, you let Lola out of her captivity! You seemed oh so comfortable together yesterday!"

"What? Mary, please. Let me explain!"

"Francis, I caught you!" Mary cried. "I caught you earlier! With her! You said you'd only be communicating with her to better parent John! But you lied to me! You lied to me again!" she sobbed, hormonal tears mixed with those of velvet anger. She let them fall.

"Mary, please! Let me explain!" Francis begged. He moved to try and touch her, but she moved away with James so he couldn't.

"What is here to explain, Francis?! I opened that chamber door and there you two were! In bed! I saw you! You were sleeping with Lola! My girls told me you woke up together in Paris! You slept with her again!"

"I didn't mean to!" he yelled. "John's been sickened with fever and sweat! He needed me! He needed his mother! I cannot deny him when he needed me!"

She paused.

"I can't expect you to deny him, you've proven the fact that you will run to him whenever he asks! But what I cannot allow is you neglecting our son when he needs you the most! He runs to me crying every single night, fearing that you've abandoned him not once but twice!"

"I have not!" Francis snapped. His eyes were wide. "I will always be there for him, we live in the same palace! He knows this! The last months have proved it! But sometimes, there are priorities! I cannot risk him getting John's sickness, he is too important!"

"It's nice of you to realise the truth, but you cannot abandon him when he needs you! We agreed that you would be there for him more since I am so close to giving birth, but you have pulled away!"

"I won't abandon John, he is unwell!"

"But you will abandon James?!" Mary laughed. "He is perceptive, he understands things! But what he doesn't understand is why his father is suddenly not with him! You can't do that! Soon he won't know who you are!"

"That is not true! I-"

"What of this baby?" she placed a hand on her stomach. "Are you going to abandon it whenever you want to run to your illegitimate spawn? I won't let you ruin this baby as you tried to do our child, I won't let you think of our son, our firstborn child, our heir, as something of a backburner! For all your promises to be a great father, you are falling short at every given moment!" Mary yelled.

"Mary, please. You don't understand! I have no idea how to father a child! My own never taught me how! I need to prioritise every few months! It won't ruin their lives if I do. Just listen, you haven't been letting me talk! Just listen!" Francis started to walk over to her, as if trying to soothe her, but Mary reacted negatively, pulling back even more.

No, no, no! I cannot do this anymore, okay?! I cannot! I've dealt with you and your lies for too long! I can't handle it anymore!" she screamed, sobbing the words out.

"You don't mean that! Please, please give me one more chance. One more! To make it right!" he cried. His voice was back to begging. He came forward with his arms extended, as if trying to hold her, but she backed up, shaking her head.

"No, no!" she cried. "No! I can't do this any more! I have given you chance after chance after chance, and all you do is betray me time and again! I can't handle it!"

"Love, please!"

"I've reached my limit with all of this, I'm just so exhausted. Of you and all you bring me. I can't handle more. I won't." she shook her head.

"You can't-you don't mean that. You can't want this! Have you forgotten that the child in your belly needs a father?"

"He was just fine without you for all those years! And he will be just fine without you! And so will this child!" she snapped, wiping her tears. "You've ensured that!"

"You cannot do this?"

"Can't I?" she asked. "Just leave. Just leave! It's what you always do! Just leave! Take them and go back to wherever you came from! Leave and never come back!" Mary yelled.

The door slammed open. Kenna and Bash walked in.

"Okay, break it up!" Kenna yelled. She whirled towards Francis, pointing an accusing finger at her half brother in law. "You both need to stop arguing in fro t of James and you need to stop being a moody, arrogant arse. You need to start being a better father to your sons before you loose them both."

She whirled towards Mary, tilting her head at her husband. "And you need to stop getting angry and stop picking up James." Bash took the boy from his mother's arms. "You're endangering the baby you carry inside of you." she said, ever the disciplinarian.

They looked at each other, seeming to call a silent truce for the time being.

"Bash, take James to the nursery. It's late and you must get him ready for bed." she ordered. "Send for handmaidens to get ready for her to rest for the evening."

Bash nodded and obeyed. Instantly, handmaidens came into the room.

Mary, by this point, had walked away to the side of the room, starting to fiddle around with trinkets in random boxes. Kenna had been playing referee, making sure that the married couple didn't lash out again. Francis stood awkwardly.

When the handmaidens came into the room, Kenna looked to Mary, who seemed a little off.

"Mary?" Kenna asked, watching Mary's face slightly falter. "Mary, what is wrong?" she asked. Said Empress leaned a hand on the dresser nearest her, closing her eyes for a beat. She inhaled almost sharply.

"Majesty!" one of the hand maidens shrieked, rushing towards them.

Mary gasped in pain, feeling familiar pain echoing through her entire torso. She gulped. It was too early. She still had another couple of weeks to go. Maybe holding James so much today was a mistake, and the arguement. But she couldn't help it. Her boy needed her. And Francis irritated her.

"Send for the midwife! The child is coming!"


	27. Chapter 27

Mary exhaled slowly, her grip tightening on the nearby bookcase and vanity. She moaned in pain, her eyes closing and clenching a little, rocking slowly back and forth, a fruitless distraction to the pain and anxiety that coursed through her veins. She moaned again, her head falling backwards, swallowing thickly, grimacing at the feeling of the child within her bearing downwards. She inhaled and exhaled slowly, mouth opening and closing in slow succession. Mary's grip on the oak and the bronze tightened again, before loosening up, her body starting to respond to the lowering amounts of pain, one so familiar and yet so different.

From the back of her mind, Mary could hear the door opening and closing and opening again in quick succession. She heard the 'click' 'clacks 'of midwives shoes on the hard stone floors, the 'pitter' 'patters' of the servant's feet rushing around with cloths and bowls of hot water. Physicians boots 'clomped' on the flooring as the several doctors made their way around the room. Against usual protocol, she had decided to have the best male physicians brought in from all over the island, in addition to the midwives she had ordered. It was quite uncommon, but the Empress' word trumped the old court ladies' huffs.

"It's alright." Kenna was all of a sudden near her, rubbing soothing circles upon her back. The Baroness whispered quiet words of reassurance, remembering the fears of childbirth Mary had confided in her about not that long ago. "Everything's going to be alright." she said again, wrapping an arm to straighten up the Empress, to try and make it easier for her to make it to the bed. But, Mary let out a sharp cry and hunched over suddenly.

"Ah!" she wailed, her knees starting to buckle. Midwives ran towards them and caught the more powerful of the two, who started to moan in pain again. She lifted her skirts, ignoring the rustle of the fabric, coming back with soaked fingertips.

"Your child is coming, Majesty." One of the midwives said. Mary straightened up to look who spoke in the eye. Short, dark blue eyes, olive-ish skin and blue damask. Emanuel Edeline, one of her favourite midwives that had been with her in France.

Mary exhaled through her mouth, trying to calm the anxiety pounding through her. She knew there was nothing really to be scared of. After all, she'd done this before in France with James. But the general risk of childbirth going wrong sent a chill up her spine. She may have done it once, but that was no guarantee she could do it again. But the experience and the lack of surprise at whatever would happen was a cold sort of comfort.

"Majesty, Majesty!" Emanuel said, her voice loud. She looked up and saw familiar blue eyes looking at her. No, staring at her. With the eyes large and resembling more buttons than visual orbs. "Come quick! You must carry the Empress to the bed!" she instructed.

Francis -whom she now realised properly was still in the room and hadn't been thrown out in the bustling madness of midwives, physicians and servants- did as he was told, rushing off towards his wife, hauling her up into his arms. He took her moaning, whimpering form to the bed, gently laying her down.

He stepped back, the midwives starting to fuss over her, removing her dress and leaving her in a shift. Her jewellery was taken out and her hair pushed over her shoulders. She exhaled slowly, moaning in pain as the more more insistent midwives lay her back against the pillows, her eyes slipping closed.

"Yes, rest Imperial Majesty. It could be a while before the child arrives. You must preserve your strength." she instructed.

"What in God's name are you doing here?!" Bash asked, storming into Francis' chambers. From the bed, Lola snapped up. She was fully clothed, a nice thing to notice, and her hair was dishevelled. Eyes half lidded, red and puffy with cheeks to match. Lilac satin and grey chiffon covered her body, pearls adorning her ears and neck.

"Bash," Lola sighed, before double taking around her surroundings. She paled visibly. "What-what are you doing here?" she asked.

"That is what I just asked you." he replied, his voice cold to his one time almost love interest, turned very distant marital relation. "Here," he gestured to the room. "Now. Why?" Bash asked.

"I-I,"

"You were caught trying to marry John off to Mary's enemy. Then, after caught, you were shipped off to the tower to await trial for your even more obvious treason, the second account of it, nonetheless. And now, Mary and James caught you and Francis sleeping in the same bed. Any more excuses?" Bash asked.

"I-I didn't mean to. I swear. Everything I have done over my sons lifetime was to keep him and I safe. I called for Mary in the French plague to keep us safe, I couldn't let us die. And now, everything that happens with John and the Hapsburg girl was to keep his future safe. Anything could happen to Francis, and if it does, John won't be safe. I need a safe haven for him, regardless if it costs me my life. Everything I do is for him."

"And you just happened to crawl into Francis' bed for him?" Bash chuckled, his softness for Lola long since hardened with the years that had passed. His knowledge of the Lady's actions over the last few years and the combined suffering and rage of his wife and of his Queen fuelling the barely controlled rage he expressed.

"No. He is with fever, it's dangerous. Francis was told of this, he went to comfort him, but John was asking for me, as well as his father. Francis let me out of the tower just for that, to comfort my son with his sickness, since we don't know if he'll even survive it." Lola's eyes grew watery. "My son remembers the time when we were in Italy, he pines for it more and more each day. It was such a simpler time. He misses it."

Bash looked over at the boy. Sure enough, John was pale. His cheeks were red and nose even redder. The discomfort on his face was obvious, even in his slumber. The little brow was slick with sweat, golden strands faded to a murky brown. He was in white cotton, it was stuck to his little body, chest heaving up and down.

As if feeling his uncle's eyes on him, John awoke with a start. He inhaled an odd sounding breath, long and quick, his eyes widening considerably. They were a dark blue, almost black, the white a bright red.

"Oncle Bash!" the little boy cried, his voice nasally and congested. He fought off the blankets, scrambling over to Bash. He threw himself into his arms.

Bash stumbled back with the weight of his body thrashing into his.

"It's alright, little Monsieur. It's all going to be okay." he soothed as best he could, remembering that this child was him in so many ways. Punished and innocent. But this boy had to learn that if he wanted to survive, he had to adapt. Adapt with James and his legitimate cousins. Adapt to court life -so long should his father force him to stay there- and adapt to the fact his father would always have to choose James and this baby over him. And if he did not, his fate was even more unclear than the Queen's own.

Mary moaned loudly in pain, taking in deep inhales and exhales. Her hand was tight around Kenna's, reluctantly taking comfort in the imperious teal gaze that was close by. The servants rushed around quickly, cloths and warm water constantly being brought into the room. Bloody ivory cotton was brought out of the room at an alarming speed.

Near her, Francis paced back and forth. One black leather clad arm was wrapped around his middle, the other arms' fingers pressed tightly against his lips. Navy gaze was dark with concern, yet bright with fear as he watched his wife labour.

It was still dark outside. Mary had gone into labour around three hours previously -and the British isles were notorious for long winter nights- and was still going. The room was bright in comparison, torches flaming bright, the fire large and roaring. The room was hot, thankfully so, considering the cold English December weather.

Mary relaxed on the bed, the wave of pain over for now. From experience with James, she knew that she was prone to long and hazardous childbirths. There was no way the baby was coming anytime soon, much to her chagrin. Her eyes closed, enjoying the lack of pain for just a moment.

Adding to his fear for his wife was the fact he had never seen a childbirth before. Having been banned from his mothers' due to his gender and arriving at the cottage too late to observe Lola's. He never knew about James until he was eighteen months old, so this was his first time. And considering -even though they were embroiled in a rough patch and a fight currently- the love he held for his wife, Francis was completely terrified for her safety.

Mary relaxed further into the pillows. Slowly walking towards her, Francis took Kenna's place beside her, helping the former sit down on an overstuffed chair. He threaded their fingers together, enjoying the fact that she didn't deny him when he pulled their conjoined hands to his lips. He pressed a soft, reassuring kiss to them. He hoped he could express all he wanted to say in it, all his apologies and his love, his regrets and his mistakes and his hopes and his dreams for a brighter future for them. And, judging by the way her eyes opened as he did, and locked onto his, Francis almost thought she understood.

Footsteps echoed throughout the damp dungeons. The hallway was lit by only a few dim torches, the smouldering embers barely showing any light. The air was crisp and cold, the small windows frozen with ice. The air was visible in front of the man's face as he walked. A white cloud of air followed him. Breath clouded in front of his nose as he exhaled. His heavy winter boots clanged against the heavy stone of the flooring. A heavy black coat prevented much of one of his home countries colours, blue and black tartan, to be seen.

He nodded to a guard that stood in front of a heavy iron door. The dark haired, amber eyed man returned the sentiment, banging his closed fist against the cold door twice, before allowing it to swing open for the aforementioned Scot to enter the dungeon chambers.

On the makeshift bed knelt Catherine de Medici. She wore a white cotton chemise, copper curls messy and tangled. Her makeup was smeared and unkempt, void of all jewellery and finery the Queen Mother of France was used to. There were dark circles on her under eyes. She was wrapped in an itchy appearing grey fur. Her hands were pressed together, the sides pressed to her nose and forehead.

She appeared to be praying. Her hands held a rosary, her mouth moving silently. She was muttering to herself, he could hear now that he had walked forwards into her cell.

She heard his footsteps and stopped praying, hawk like hazel eyes bright and sharp as she looked him up and down.

"Look who it is." Catherine spat. "I never thought I'd lay eyes on you again." she hissed.

In front of her stood Henri de Anguleme. The illegitimate son of her husband and Janet Fleming. Unlike Sebastian, he was claimed and given lands and titles. Although half French, he was born and raised in Scotland with his mother, step father and half siblings.

Although he was quite respected in the French and British Courts -being a half sibling to the King and Queen- he was quite notorious for his illegitimacy. Although, he wasn't half as notorious as his half sister, Dame Lola Campbell, nae Lady Fleming.

The man was young, younger than Lola by several years. But loyalty to the crown and a rather advantageous match to the daughter of an English Earl brought about by the Empress had softened any hard feeling between the subjects. The man was young, fresh and handsome, newly married and ready to serve and raise.

"And yet, here we are." Henri said. He would always think himself Scottish before French, which was the reason he was here on his blood written Queen's request, rather than his blood written King.

"What do you want? To gloat about my shortcomings? To laugh at my imprisonment? To mock me for all that I am not? Believe me, your mother did that before you were born." she hissed. It was true, Catherine always hated Lady Fleming, the one time mistress of the long dead King Henri. Not just for her illegitimacy in her own right, but for her baring Henry one of his favourite sons, one far stronger than her own until they grew. And, as she always did, she hated her illegitimate step children simply because they were her illegitimate step children. It had always been that way. Sebastian first, Henri second, then if he felt like it, Francis third.

"Not at all." Henri replied calmly. "I am simply here to inform you that my Empress, your daughter in law, is in the throes of childbirth as we speak." he said.

"What? I-"

"It's true. This night, she will give birth to your third grandchild. She and the baby may die. She just thought you should know."

"Ah!" Mary wailed out in pain, her fingers tightening around Francis' palm. He squeezed her hand back, letting her know that he was with her. And that he wasn't going to leave her again. Eight hours had passed since her waters had gone, and still nothing. The contractions had been hard and fast and frequent, but still no baby.

"Can't you do something for her? Anything?! Just look at her!" Francis snapped loudly, his own body tensing at the sight of his wife in great pain.

"I'm sorry, Majesty. There's not enough space for the babe to come out yet. He refuses to drop, sire." Percaville, one of the senior midwives, said to her Emperor, wiping off Mary's blood from her hands, mopping her brow with her forearm.

"You can do nothing? Nothing to speed the process along?" Francis snapped. "Look at her!" he growled, the fierce protectiveness for his wife -that he'd felt even as a young boy- causing venom to drip from his words.

"No, sir. We we can give the Empress only small amounts of food and water. We fear the babe's reaction should any tonics be introduced. Should he come out too quick, your wife could tear and bleed out."

He said nothing, merely looked at his wife, worried and anxious, doublet and waistcoat long since removed, hair messily pushed back. He took a breath of relief as the pain seemed to be lessening a little, her cries starting to quiet, her body loosening its tension.

When she was quiet, sipping on some water Kenna was pouring into her mouth from a goblet, Francis relaxed from his perch on the side of the bed. But his heart still raced as he anxiously prayed for the secure birth of his child and the safety of his wife.

"Tante?" James asked, a small hand reaching out for Greer's hand. The exhausted and grief stricken pregnant Lady in green brushed back his black curls, marvelling in the silky feeling of the ringlets between her fingers.

"Yes, love?" she asked, her voice expressing her own tiredness that was mirrored by the young boy. Hers was brought about by worry for Mary -who insisted she stay in the nursery and take care of her baby and the other children instead of being with her for the birth- and lack of sleep, brought about by her pregnancy and grief of her now buried husband. The small bump -barely even there at a mere six weeks- was well hidden in her gown, even less visible as she sat back down on the Prince's bed. A rare time where he didn't sleep in the royal nursery -where all his cousins slept- he had chosen to spend this night alone. His young shoulders bore the burden of fright for his mothers' life, the only reason he slept here and not the North Wing of the palace was that these bedchambers were a good distance closer to the royal bedchambers than the nurseries.

"Is mama okay?" the crown Prince asked. "Her and Papa were arguing and she was holding me, but then Tante Kenna came in and Oncle Bash took me to you, but mama started yelling differently. She seemed to be in so much pain, Tante. I've never seen her like that before, is she okay?" he asked, his little voice rambling and barely stopping for breath. His beautiful golden eyes that glowed an enchanting golden-green in the candlelight were wide with worry.

"Of course, my love. Your mama is going to be just fine. Your baby brother or sister just decided to come into the world." Greer smiled, but she truly didn't know. Childbirth was a dangerous business, after all. Many women died from it. But, "mama is with the best physicians and midwives in the countries. And your Papa will never let anything happen to her." Greer explained.

James huffed and mumbled something, but she didn't push to know what it was. She knew the effects James suffered from because of his parents' recently rocky marriage and father's mistakes. And she knew how important it was to not patronise or push him to reveal his inner emotions. If he would reveal, it had to be on his own time and terms. Neither he nor his parents reacted well to patronisation, anyway.

"I don't want anything bad to happen. I remember Tante Claude. I remember what happened. I remember what happened to Tante and little Olivier. I don't want it to happen again with mama."

"Nothing will, love." Greet soothed. "Your mother is so strong." she paused. "Do you remember when I was having little Rose and George?" Greer asked. "And when Tante Kenna was having little Meri?" she finished.

"Yes, Tante."

"I got through having them, so did Tante. And so did your mama with you. It hurts, but with the best help, women can get through it. Your mother is strong, my love. Stronger than anybody I've ever known. She will survive. And you'll have a beautiful baby brother or sister to love and play with."

James nodded. But the little boy said "it hurts?" with his eyes wide once again.

"Childbirth and having children is a very beautiful thing, but it is very painful to all women. But there's nothing we can do to change it." Greer brushed a hand through his hair again.

"Mama just has to stop having babies then. It's simple." his response was quick.

"Your mama is an Empress. She must have as many babies as possible to make sure her people are safe." Greer tried her best to explain the prospect of heirs to the near four year old. "And if mama and papa didn't have any more babies, then they wouldn't have your baby brother or sister. And you love the baby that you'll soon meet, don't you?"

"Yes, Tante." James said, rubbing his little eyes, childish tiredness running through his little body, but he still had things to say. "What of mama and papa? They were very unhappy together earlier. I don't want them to be unhappy! I don't want to see mama cry because of papa or that mean boy or his mama ever again!"

"Your parents will make it through this, just as they always have done. They've gone through worse than the little boy and his mother and have came through stronger for it." Greer smiled.

He tried to smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"What is it, love? What saddens you so?" Greer asked, cupping his chin and making him look up at her.

"I don't want anything to happen to mama. I love her so much, Tante. I don't want anything to happen to her because of the baby."

Mary collapsed back against the pillows, a soft whimper-wine leaving her lips as her body fell against the cool satin of the pillows under her. The sun had risen, and still no baby. She had forgotten the amount of hours she had suffered in this bed, they had all merged into one, agonising lump that just grew and grew with every passing minute.

The Empress felt the familiar sensation of Francis kissing her fingers again, but she could feel the tension underneath them. Opening her eyes, the large dark golden orbs met his troubled azure ones. They were stormy, the most mystical light blue with dark swirls within. The inner storm within him could be seen, she noticed, before catching onto the stern lock of his jaw, the flare of his nostrils, the tight draw of his brow.

His worry for others -mainly her- presented itself with an almost anger, she observed. But it had almost always been like that. When they were sickened with fever as children -from playing too long on the frozen lake with Elisabeth and Claude and Bash and her ladies. He had healed quicker than her, and had yelled at the physicians to do something to heal his future wife or he'd have them thrown into the dungeons.

She breathed a chuckle at the memory, remembering his little, eight year old face drawn with anger. He usually seemed so gentle and reserved, almost as much as gentle Elisabeth who now safely -well, as much as you could get in French Court- in the aforementioned Court.

She felt a cool touch on her shoulder. Looking over, Kenna held a bronze pitcher and a goblet.

"Here, you must keep drinking." she said, her voice clearly trying to express kindness and motherly gentleness, but even her own worry could not be disguised as much as she wanted. The urgency in her eyes and the paleness in her usually olive coloured, blush rouged cheeks proved it.

To save face, Mary drank from the goblet and emptied it two more times. In pure tiredness -sleep had been a foreign concept in the final few days in her pregnancy, worry for her children and anger at Francis being the cause, never mind the fact the unborn baby kicked relentlessly- she closed her eyes, enjoying the absence of pain, even if it would only last a mere moment.

"Your Grace." Steven says to James, bastard born son to bastard born son. The page and spy bowed to the temporary regent, who had been fretting in his office ever since word of Mary's childbirth had reached him. If he listened closely enough, the echoes of his dearest half sibling could be heard, as she cried out in pain. It was well past noon now, and still, the cries of the newest royal baby hadn't been heard. He had paced Mary's office for hours upon hours, taking over her work after sending heralds and riders all around the Empire to alert the people of their Empress' condition. Word had been sent to Princess Elisabeth and the French regent, but it would be days until they knew, even with their fastest rider mounting the horse.

The Earl of Moray snapped up from his reverie to his illegitimate nephew. He pulled himself up from his chair by the fire, body rushing from behind his black desk, onyx leather and brown fur covering the temporary regent. His brow was drawn in concentration for the younger's words. His face was ashen, his heartbeat -he was sure- could be heard from both of them.

"Yes, what is it?" James' love for his younger half sister evident in his quick words, and also his fear for her. James knew well enough the danger of childbirth. He had heard the horror stories of the crown Prince's birth, never mind the fact that his first wife, young Marjorie, had been killed the same way. Young, so young. The baby, too. The little girl forever gone with her mother.

He blinked out of his reverie again, looking his bastard nephew in the eye. "The babe, has it arrived?"

"Her Imperial Majesty still suffers in the throes of childbirth." Steven paused, his own love and fear evident. "Ever since between the hours of seven last night, and to this moment, the child has not arrived."

"Still? She went into labour last night, it's well into the afternoon." James said, flustered.

"Yes, your grace, uncle. Physicians and midwives say that the Empress suffers from long labours. Hazardous labours." They both paused. "The child shows no interest in showing himself into the world. She is no closer to delivery than before."

"God help us." James muttered, sliding his hands over his face in prayer-like fashion.

"I don't think he can, uncle."

She screamed. She screamed louder than ever. She screamed, and screamed and screamed and screamed. It had gone on for hours upon hours. The sun had risen and set again. And still, nothing.

"Keep going, Majesty!" One of the midwives yelled. Her hand tightened around Francis', the fingers locking into a vise-like grip. His jaw set in discomfort and fear, and didn't speak. She seethed, hissing in inhales and exhales. Her other hand clamped around Kenna's. Her nails dug into her lady's skin. She let out a choked sob, inhaling shakily. Her chest heaved in gasps or son's. She couldn't quite tell.

"I know." Kenna murmured into her hair. "I know, but you have to keep going, Mary." she said.

"I-I can't." Mary proclaimed, her body convulsing in so much pain that it was so hard to even breathe, let alone talk. Her womb contracted, trying to force her child out into the world, but it didn't seem to be enough. "I can't." Mary clarified, mumbling out the words, her eyes closing in pure exhaustion.

"You can, Mary." Francis murmured into her hair. "You did this before, before with James. You can do it again. Mary, please. I know you can do it." he said, his words an odd mix of exhausted and full of anxiety.

"I can't." Mary insisted. "I-I can't." she sniffled, her eyes opening slowly.

"You can." Francis insisted.

Mary wailed once more, the pain returning in full force. She screamed, the pain so familiar and different at the same time. Her hands tightened around those she loved as her body ground down. She could feel the child move inside of her, but it didn't seem enough.

"You're close, your Majesty!" one of the matrons yelled from between her legs. "Your child is close! Just a few pushes more, Majesty!"

Her body sagged in the bed. The white silk shift she wore clung to her, sweat making the fabric stick. Her legs were covered in blood, the bed sheets too. It was all getting too much. Too much pain, too much exhaustion. Not enough air. Not enough time.

"I-I can't do this." the Empress murmured. "I can't."

"Mary, please. You can. I know you can!" Francis begged her, bringing her fingers to his lips in a bruising kiss. She gasped in a trifecta of breaths, the inhales loud.

"Can't." Mary mumbled, her eyes falling closed. Just a few more moments of resting. That's all she wanted. So why was it so hard to open her eyes again?

The darkness was so comforting. So inviting. No more pain or suffering or uncertainty. Just rest.

"Mary? Mary!"

She tried to see him again. She really, really tried.

But the darkness was too strong.

_"King Henry! King Henry we must stop!" the young man on horseback cried. Their guide to that year's new years party -held by Mistress de Portiers was a marvellous chance for the French people to see their King and Queen and future King and Queen. Upon the orders of Queen Catherine, the latter's had been safely locked away at Court. The reason being that the young Dauphin had only just gotten over his weakness and friality. And the young future Dauphine had only just arrived from her homeland that spring. And Queen Catherine couldn't bare to think of the duo being hurt outside the castle walls - was not a competent man. He easily lost his way because of the several inches of now covering the French mountains in which they rid upon._

_Upon his brown, tall mare, sat astride the King of France. He was bundled into a shapeless clump of brown fur, red velvet and gold embroidery. Henri yelled back at the young man._

_"We only have one more day!" he yelled, his voice a mere whisper in comparison to the horrid snowstorm covering them. "I am not stopping!" he yelled once again, turning to squint, trying to find the chateaux that he had gifted his favourite mistress and the mother of his favourite son. But, it was fruitless._

_"What about the Queen?!" the guide yelled. He had been trying to get the stubborn king to turn around with their entourage for miles now. But, that was fruitless as well. "She's been astride her horse for hours now! She is exhausted!" he tried. Henry huffed in annoyance, turning around, his love for his wife long since soured into hatred. "Think of your child!" he yelled. That made Henry stop. Whilst he would allow Catherine to suffer, he would not when she grew with his child. And, the Medici Queen was heavily pregnant again, a much desired pregnancy seeing as she had given him two daughters after her favourite child, not two more sons as the king would have liked. And the Consort prayed for another son, not a useless daughter whom she -although fiercely loved- resented simply because of their sex- almost as much as she did her future daughter in law. Whom she simply disliked from the first moment they met over a year and a half ago._

_Aforementioned Scottish Queen sat astride her favourite white stallion. A gift from her late father, the blonde haired, blue eyed intelligent and protective horse rode calmly through the snow. Clearly, this weather reminded mistress and horse of their homeland, for this weather was common in Scotland. The duo took to it instantly, but it was hard to enjoy after days of riding, their carriages unable to go up the steep hills. He was heavily covered in blankets and furs, along with the saddle that held the future of France and Scotland._

_Mary was donned in a heavy Scarlett chiffon ball gown, the skirt puffy and train long, waist tight and sleeves sheer. On top, her thickest house coat and at least three blankets, before the biggest sleeved cape was placed on her shoulders. It dwarfed the tall child, the black fur cape with thick sleeves keeping her body from the snow and the wind. The hood almost covered her eyes, the sleeves having the ability to run well past her arms, the actual cape able to wrap around her at least twice. It was thick enough to muffle the sound of the howls of the wind and the crunches of the snow._

_In front of her sat her pretty Dauphin. Bundled up even thicker than she was, the six year old sat back against his future wife. He held onto the reigns of their horses, gloved hands covered by Mary's own. His usual leather trousers and boots were covered by a black tunic, a high necked red velvet waistcoat and a thick doublet of red and black leather, silver embellishments drowned in the four blankets Catherine had forced upon his little shoulders. A thick cape of red velvet backed with brown fur covered him, the hood up, hiding his long blonde curls and deep blue eyes. He held her close, bringing her forward by his grip on her hands. Although he was in front, Mary was in control._

_"Think of the Prince and the Queen!" the man yelled once more. Henry's eyes fell to his son and future daughter in law, huddled together close, both mere lumps that didn't resemble children at all, due to the many layers they wore. "They are your heirs, the future! They are mere children, they won't be able to last in this weather much longer!" he yelled._

_Henry seemed to contemplate for a moment._

_"Think of the Princesses, Elisabeth and Claude!" he yelled once again. Sitting astride a mediocre sized brown bare sat the young Princesses donned in soft pinks, lilacs and whites. They -too- were mere figure less lumps, wrapped in so many layers of blankets and furs, upon Catherine's insistence, of course._

_"Very well." Henry huffed, the last straw in his confusion being the prospect of England, Spain and the alliance Claude was to marry for crumbling, in addition to his future child being harmed. "We shall take refuge in the next house we see." he demanded._

_They found a quite sizeable cottage a few hours later. The guards banged their fists against the door, and the woman opened up instantly, once they told her to do so "in the name of the King."_

_"What is this?" she demanded, or rather squeaked._

_"Madam, the royal procession is here. But we cannot travel farther in this storm. We will take refuge here."_

_"Yes, yes of course." she said, her breath taken from her as she saw the King of France get off his horse and go to a white stallion, plucking two children from it, resting one on each hip. Little hands interlocked on the King's abdomen. Upon a large gust of wind, she saw the little heads. One dark and wavy, the other fair and curled._

_Henry payed no mind to the woman who was obviously the Queen, who bumbled off her horse, baby bump big and proud. Nor to his little daughters, who were lifted off their horse and held by two different guards. No, only the two most politically important children, did the King's attention fall to. And it didn't look like this was a regular thing, either. The surprise on the boy's face and the uneasy on the girls' as he plucked them from the stallion -who was placed in the stables with the other horses- and carried them to the door._

_"Your Majesty." the woman curtseyed low._

_"Don't scrape, madam." he mumbled. "Where can I settle my children?" he asked, clearly thinking more of Mary than Catherine did. But that was not uncommon at all. The child didn't look up at him with wonder like she had done the other time._

_"Here, sire." she said, gesturing to a light green tapestry covered bed near the fire in the corner. He lay them both down and servants -who had entered after the Queen and Princesses- started fussing instantly over the future King and Queen, stripping them from their cold, wet clothes and placed all four children -one at a time- in hot baths, laying them down in their thickest night clothes after they were dry._

_"You must drink, mon petite reine." one coaxed Mary into drinking from a bowl of steaming broth. She had been holding it to her lips, but Mary refused to drink until Francis had been returned from his bath. Upon a quick glance, the servants had taken over the woman's humble abode, and who also was nowhere to be seen. She saw Henry and Catherine at opposite sides of another room, and Elisabeth and Claude fast asleep on a settee on the other side of that room. Beside her, Francis lay._

_Obliging, Mary obediently drank the hot liquid, grateful for the warmth after so many hours of coldness. It was salty, but substantial and a nice change from cold ham and crackers and almost frozen brie. She could taste the remnants of root vegetables and venison in the broth, and the taste pleased her, tasting her past in the vegetables and her future in the fine meat, the combination appetising, left her wanting more when the bowl was empty. She wined in displeasure._

_"Wonderful, children." one of the nannies clapped her hands in appeasement. "Now, let's see if you can stomach some with some actual meat in it."_

_Well, Mary wasn't apposed to that idea._

_What she was apposed to was waking up some hours after she fell asleep, coughing and holding her head. She made loud noises of displeasure in the dimly lit house, cringing at the burning in her throat and the flames in her nose. She coughed loudly, but nobody made a sound. Beside her, Francis stirred._

_Instantly, she gripped his hand and snuggled in closer, seaking the comfort he always brought her. He nestled into her, wrapping an arm that seemed suspiciously hot around her. Swallowing back a cough, she felt that his own skin was as wet and clammy as hers was. In one part of her mind, she could already hear the devoted Catherine's yells as she found out her son -her favourite child at that- was with fever. She'd no doubt find a way to blame Mary. She usually did. How was it Mary's fault that Francis fell out of a tree when he was racing with Bash about who could climb the highest when Mary sat at the bottom of it, reading a book from her homeland? She never would understand Catherine de Medici._

_But the other realised that she and Francis were with fever. That meant it was because of the cold they endured the night before. She somewhat relaxed in that aspect. The last time she had awoken in such pain had been the aftermath of an assassination attempt back home. But this was different. It had to be._

_She inhaled deeply, swallowing thickly in an attempt to loosen the pain in her throat, but it came away fruitless. She wined quietly into Francis' neck, as if asking him to make it better. He stirred again, falling back to his back upon the bed, his arm sliding out from it's place upon her, much to the little Queen's displeasure, only opening his eyes in a light hiss as his other arm slung across his eyes. His brow creased in pain._

_He mumbled something in French, ever so quietly. Her Dauphin looked down as she started coughing quietly into the pillow, a light hand placed itself upon her back, brow furrowed in a mix of his own pain and hers, the gesture a clear attempt to comfort her. She made a small noise once her coughing had subsided, turning from her stomach to her back, threading his fingers in between hers. They didn't talk. They didn't really have to._

_The next time they awoke, it was to the outraged yells of Catherine de Medici._

_"You utter fool!" she berated her husband. "Look at your son! Look at him!" the pregnant Queen shrieked. "He is pale and sickened with fever, was it that important to go see your whore?!" Catherine yelled. From the bed -where she had grabbed Henry's chin to stare- the children wined and moaned in pain at the horrid squawk. Their heads ached already, without the yelling to make it worse. "You dragged him into the snow, the cold! He is sickened!" she yelled once more "What if he is lost to me forever? No, no, I cannot bare the thought." she was rambling now, and rushing towards the future King and Queen of France, taking the future King into her arms -much to the future rulers' displeasure, Mary clinging to her Dauphin until Catherine forced her grip on his hand loosen, Francis reached out to her -Mary-, wining in dissatisfaction- shushing him as one shushes a newborn babe._

_That day had been horrid. They were still confined to these small lodgings, the snowstorm not letting up. Catherine hadn't left Francis alone for a single second. He had squirmed and wined in pain and displeasure of being separated from Mary, who in response, was pushing away the servants and rolling about the bed, hitting the pillows and panting, her fever not broke, her skin hot to the touch, covered in perspiration, so much so her nightgown stuck to her._

_"Will you put the boy down?" Henry hissed in irritation, tiring of that terrible, shrill wine leaving his sons lips. For all his shortcomings, even he was worried of his child's well being. Even if he tried to convince himself that it was because Francis was his heir and not just his son._

_"No!" Catherine snapped, rocking him from side to side. "He is my son, he is sickened! He needs me!" she said, despite her sons' attempts to get away from her too tight embrace._

_"What the boy needs," Henry mocked, his voice a hiss again."is that girl over there!" he pointed to the now stilled Queen of Scotland, who watched their conversation with rapt attention. S~he let out soft whimpers and wines, but wasn't squirming anymore. Henry came close and took Francis into his arms, cradling him how one does a newborn babe. Catherine tried to cling to him, but Henry took Francis from his mother and to his future wife, laying him down against the bed._

_Instantly, the two silenced. Their eyes shut, bodies curving into each others'. Francis extended out an arm, and Mary cuddled into him, her head resting on his chest -right above his heart- and one hand fisting his nightshirt. The other hand wrapped itself around Francis', his own arm wrapping around her. They settled instantly. Sleep was easy to find when they had each other._

_"Well, would you look at that?" Henry chuckled. Catherine fumed from behind them._

Mary moaned softly. She panted for air, her eyes still closed. Two hands were wrapped around her own. They tightened suddenly. All she could hear was her heartbeat, but it sounded as though it was under water, slowed down considerably, at that. But then, voices swam through. Voices that got clearer and clearer.

"Push, Majesty!" a third shrieked. Not having the strength to jump at the harshness of the voice that opposed the other two that were so soft. "Push!" she yelled.

Mary's eyes opened slowly. She took in air.

"That's it, Mary!" Francis' voice was in her ear, his other hand assisting her in sitting up. "I've got you. I'm here and I'm not leaving. I'm not going anywhere." he said into her ear.

Mary looked down, saw the sweat soaked and blood stained shift, the bulging bump upon her abdomen. Instincts ran through her. Her body bared down and she pushed hard, a shriek leaving her lips.

"That's it, Majesty! I can see the head! Again, again!" the midwife yelled.

Mary panted for air, her hands tightening around Francis' and Kenna's.

She pushed down hard, a wail leaving her lips.

"Yes, that's it! The head is just starting to come out! Ladies, prepare the water and the cotton!" she yelled.

Mary threw back her sweat slicked hair in an effort to clear her thoughts. All she had to know was that she had to push, and push hard. And push now.

"Yes, Majesty! Push!"

Despite the pain, Mary screamed and pushed again. Over and over and over and over. She screamed and cried and cursed, her cheeks wet with tears and sweat.

"Almost, Majesty! Just one more!" the midwives yelled, the bustling midwifes and physicians and servants never louder. "One more and it will be over!"

"That's it, Mary. I'm here, I'm here and I'm never leaving again. Just one more, bring our child into the world." Francis murmured into her hair. "You can do it."

Taking in one more gulp of air, Mary clenched her teeth, clamping down on Francis and Kenna's hands one more time, pushing as hard as she physically could. Another scream left her lips.

And then, it was over.

The babe having left her, Mary collapsed lifelessly onto the bed, gulping down air and closing her eyes in pure exhaustion. She sniffled, looking down the length of her body to see the physicians and midwives fretting over a small bundle.

And then, it cried.

Mary laughed aloud, different types of tears cascading down her cheeks. Her husband came close and leaned down. Francis cupped her cheeks, leaning closer, placing delicate kisses on her lips, their previous argument -at least for now- forgotten. Kenna stepped away to give them a moment, and herself to compose herself.

"Oh, Mary. You did it!" he smiled, pulling back. Mary choked on her own laughter, staring deep into his eyes as she had done so many times before. Francis fixed her wet hair and pressed another kiss to her lips, before pulling back and straightening up, his hands sliding from her face to her hand again.

"Imperial Majesties." one of the midwives said. Francis and Mary looked up to see her -old and greying blonde haired, hazel eyed, exhausted and covered in a white chemise and a blue pinafore- holding their baby.

"What is it?" Francis asked. Mary stared, open mouthed, at the little screaming bundle that looked so small in her arms.

"My Emperor, a son." she smiled, coming closer to him and extending the bundle to him. He choked a tear filled smile, letting go of his wife and stepping in close to receive his newborn son. He sniffled in delight, tears sliding down his face as he stared down at his newborn son, who made small kittenish noises in his arms.

"Je'taime, mon petite prince." Francis murmured, kissing his cleaned up head, his little tendrils of hair soft against his fathers' lips. "I'm your father. And I've waited so very long to meet you. And I love you more than I can say."

Francis smiled down at his boy, before looking up to see his beautiful wife, looking exhausted but delighted, staring at them both. He smiled back, coming close to lay his son into the arms of his mother.

"Hello there, my love," Mary whispered, instantly enchanted by this little being. To her amazement, the baby seemed to respond to his mothers' voice, settling instantly.

The midwives and physicians quickly coaxed the afterbirth from Mary's insides, cleaning her up to the best of their abilities, before checking on the bleeding and making sure that it wasn't too much for their liking. Once satisfied, they and the servants bowed out with Kenna, off to rest and spread the news to the Empire and France. And representatives from the church -whom Mary only now noticed were there- left with them, until it was just Mary and Francis together.

"What should we name him?" The Empress whispered, having bathed and eaten and now rested inside a clean bed. The sun was just coming up, giving the room a beautiful glow. The baby now rested in his mothers' arms, suckling greedily from her freed and bare breast.

"I had a name in mind." Francis revealed, completely full of adrenaline from the birth. He couldn't stop smiling at this little being who would surely be the thing to complete his family and strengthen them like never before. And at his wife, who had never looked more beautiful, holding their newborn son in her arms, a sight he had never seen before, but he was sure he would see again with more and more children.

They seemed too have a wordless agreement between the them. Not to mention their previous argument. At least not now. Both were sure that it would be resolved, but not now. There would be time for that later. They would only get to experience this moment with their newborn once.

"Really? What is it?" she asked, looking up from her baby to her husband once again. He lay on his side next to them, half on the pillows, watching their every move with rapt attention.

There, they had heard the cheers of the palace's residents when they heard of the successful birth, and of a son, no less. She could practically hear the countries breathe a sigh of relief, knowing they had a second Prince and heir, and that the Empress had survived childbirth with little issue. There, they enjoyed their time as a little family, patiently waiting for young James to awake and come and meet his brother and unify their family once and for all.

"Lucien." he revealed. Mary started to smile. "Prince Lucien Robert Francois Valois-Anguleme-Stuart, of France, England, Wales, Ireland and Scotland." he completed. Mary smiled. That had a ring to it. It sounded perfect. It went nicely with James' full name. Prince James Henry Philippe Valois-Anguleme-Stuart of France, England, Wales, Ireland and Scotland.

"I like it." she nodded, looking down at her baby once again. "Don't you, my little Prince?"

Lucien made a noise, almost agreeing.

Mary giggled, looking up at Francis again.

"Lucien." she said. "What does it mean?"

"It means _light_."


	28. Chapter 28

The door opened quietly. A quiet squeak was followed by a gentle 'clunk'. Tiny feet 'pitter' 'pattered' over the fire warmed rugs and towards an impressive gold crib. The small body stopped next to the ornate cradle, little hands and fingers wrapping themselves around the thin, substantial golden embellishments. Hanging over it, held up by strong twisted gold, a long ivory bed curtain made of the finest ivory lace, tiny embellishments fine and having Gaelic origin.

The large room was well lit, a roaring fire held back by a blackened iron guard, the windows clamped shut, torches alight, giving the room a comforting golden glow. Long curtains fell languidly along the floor on different parts of the room. A chandelier hung in the middle of the ceiling, long and shimmering. In a corner, a toy box full of little trinkets, near it, a rocking horse. Close to the crib, a large, overstuffed rocking chair was reclined backwards, a small towel embellished in gold thread folded over the back.

At the other end of the room, a lowered down tea party set. The table was dark oak, the chairs matching, the little blanket red and gold. Tiny tea plates and teacups were made of fine china. Toys and teddies and trinkets and ribbons fell childishly around the room. Standing proud against a wall, a large bookshelf complete with books for children. Little dollies were strewn upon the shelves and in a toy box of their own.

On the other side of the room, a trifecta of bassinets standing side by side. Cotton and oak, pillows and a single toy in each one. Upon bookshelves and cases, little mechanical toys and small wooden skittles set up in a neat pile. A little dolly with dark hair and eyes, covered in purple satin and black lace was stood proudly in the middle. It looked familiar to James, but that was because he instantly knew that this doll was the only gift his grandmother Marie sent to his mother when she was little older than he himself, for her sixth birthday in France. It looked exactly like her, or what she would have looked like when she was little.

He looked back from the dolly and over to his little brother. Laying upon an overstuffed mattress covered by a fine and soft white material, his little head was propped up by a few little pillows, embellished with gold satin at the corners. He was wrapped tightly in a thick blanket. James heard little 'hwoos' coming from his little brothers' nose as he took breaths calmly.

It was late, far too late for he to be awake still. But he couldn't sleep, it still wasn't right. The little crown Prince could only sneak in to see his new brother now. Of course, his mother and father had introduced the two that morning after the Crown Prince had awoken, but it hadn't been the same. So, sneaking in during the guard exchange -and the nanny and servants exchange- young Prince James mischievously snuck in to see little Lucien again at this time.

Leaning up on his tip toes, James' eyes barely passed over the top of Lucien's cradle. He smiled as he caught sight of the sleeping baby. With a little tuft of golden hair coming over his little hat and the blanket, James stared at his little brother with rapt attention.

He looked like his father, James noticed. The same nose and the same hair. Nothing really seemed defining yet -his little brother was only a day old, James reminded himself-, but he could recognise his mothers' pouted lips on his little brother and his fathers hair.

"Hello, Lucien." James whispered. "I'm your big brother, James." he smiled. reaching up a little hand to brush it against the baby's cheek. The baby stirred at the contact. The elder smiled again.

"You've been in mama's stomach all this time, haven't you?" he whispered, his words a little mispronounced. "So you haven't seen her much, but she's really pretty. I promise. She's ever so pretty, you'll know it too. The next time you open your eyes, you'll see." he said quietly.

The baby slept on.

"I know mama worries that I'll feel pushed out, because you're here. But I don't. Because I love you already, just like she does. I hope you do. She's ever so kind and nice, she only gets angry at the boring men at court, or papa when he deserves it." he half smiled. "But mama only thinks I'll feel pushed out because our cousin George said that he was jealous that our other cousin, little Rose, took Tante Greer's and Lord Castleroy's time away when she was a baby. But I don't feel that way. Because you made mama happy when our papa could not." The crown Prince nodded to himself. He spoke again.

"But it's been happening a lot, you know. Papa making mama sad. I try to make her happy, so I hope you make her happier. When you've been sleeping inside her stomach, Papa has been making very silly decisions, like being with a mean boy and his own mama. Our mama cries, because that lady makes her sad. I'm not sure about the mean boy just yet, but she tells me that you and me make her happy. So I want you to promise that you'll be a good boy for her, like I do, because when she's happy, lots and lots of people get happy, too. She smiles a lot more, and it's a very pretty smile. Have you seen it? I think so, but you probably don't remember it, but you'll see it when you get hungry and she holds you like she holds me. And it's nice when she's happy. I am happy when she is." James babbled.

"Our papa promised me when I was little that he'd make mama happy. Not make her sad. I don't think he's been keeping that promise. Because just before you decided to come out of mama's stomach, she was really sad and cried a lot. And she was really angry at Papa. I'm not sure what he did, but it's about that mean boys' mama, and when mama talks about her, it's never good. She told papa to go back to France. You don't know what that is just yet, because we're in England right now. But it's papa's country. He says one day it will be mine, just like mama's countries will be. She told him to take that mean little boy and his mama and go away to France." he said, his voice little more than a childish whisper. "I hope he does. Because whenever that mean boy is not here, and that lady, everything is happy. Tante Greer and Kenna are happier, and so is mama and so am I. When they're here, everything is sad." he said.

Tiring of stepping on his tip toes, James sat with his back to the cradle, but he talked to his brother still. "I remember when Papa came to Scotland. Although he and mama were a little sad around each other, they were so very happy for a while. But then mama got sick, and that lady came back. So then they were sad. But for a little while, that lady and the boy were gone, and we were all so happy. So very happy. You were in mama's stomach, papa was being nice to her, he was being kind to me, and we found out Tante Kenna was going to have another baby." he said.

"But everything got sad again. If papa does go to France, I will be sad because he's gone, but it's probably better for everybody if he does. He can be happy with that boy and that lady, and me, you and mama will be happy together." he said, pausing for a moment. "I didn't know him for a long time. I didn't mind not having a papa, because I had mama. I saw Tante Greer with her husband, George and Rose's and the baby's papa. I saw Tante Kenna with Meri and Oncle Bash as her papa. It made me happy for them, but I didn't need a papa. Because mama was enough, even though she was working a lot. Because mama is really important, you know? She rules over lots and lots of people who need her just as much as we do. That's why she wears pretty dresses and crowns and we live in pretty palaces and castles." James rubbed a sleepy eye. "But then our papa came back for us. He was so kind to me and I loved him. I still do love him, but I don't want to if he makes everybody sad. But he does something I don't like, apart from making mama sad and cry. He always leaves us for another boy and that woman with curly hair. When mama was sick, before we knew you were in her stomach, he was with her. He is always with her, not with mama and I, like he should be. I'm happy that he was with her when you came out. I hope he will stay with us, but be with us. If he's going to be with that mean boy and keep putting them over us, then I want him to go." James rambled on again. Lucien slept on.

"You know there was one day where he promised to take me riding, but didn't? He was with that boy that day. Oncle Bash took me. I like Oncle Bash. He hasn't left us, ever. When I was in mama's belly, he didn't leave. When I was little like you, he didn't leave. And he won't leave you, either. He's better than papa. He doesn't make as many bad decisions as papa does. Even when he was in France and mama, our Tante's and Uncail James, he always made trips to see us. I wish papa did that. Or at least saw us more, rather than be with that mean boy all the time." James sighed.

"I don't want him to leave you like he left me, Lucien. Promise. But if he does, then mama and I will make you happy. We will love you and protect you and never leave you. Me especially. I will teach you the things our Oncles and Uncails teach me as mama helps us grow into good boys. You won't be missing anything if he leaves, promise. I won't let you see the sadness he brings to people. I won't let him hurt you." he looked up at the cradle, but he was too small to see anything. "I won't let anybody hurt you, Lucian. I promise."

"And if he goes to France, when we get big and strong, I don't care if he gives France to that boy he obviously loves more than us. Because mama can love us a thousand times more than he does, and one day, I'll be an emperor and you'll be by my side. We'll take France back, our rightful country. And then we'll make that boy pay for taking him away and making our mama sad for so long. You just wait, my little brother."

He got up and leaned up on his tip toes again, stepping on the bottom of the cradle to kiss his little brother on his little head how he saw Mary do that morning.

"I love you, my little brother."

The little boy got down and turned around, intending on walking out of the room before the guards or the nannies came back, but his big golden eyes widened at the sight before him.

"Papa?"


	29. Chapter 29

Francis stood shock still. His hair looked shorter, whiter almost. Beautiful azure eyes looked almost grey to his shock. He's in shock, unable to say anything. He looked into James' eyes, neither father nor sons saying a word. He breathed, trying to process everything that James had said. How could he do this? How could he be so foolish to do this?

"James," he decided, kneeling to the floor to his sons height. James cocked his head, not rushing into his arms like he normally would over the last nine months. "I need to tell you something."

"What?" he asked. Francis tried to not to let it bother him that the child didn't refer to him as 'Papa' as he had done for months. But, biting his lip, the King continued.

"I am sorry." he said. James furrowed his little eyebrows. "For everything." he said. The little boy shook his head, clinging his white fur lined, golden coloured, satin blanket closer to his small body, little sleepwear hanging off his nimble, little frame.

"For what? Making Mama sad when you told me you weren't going to any more? For always being with that other boy instead of me? Or for making my little brother come early." he wrapped his little arms around each other in front of him.

"All of it. And more." he said. Francis spotted the rocking chair and got up, plopping himself down into the overstuffed item. James watched him, wearily and closely. Francis patted his knee. Reluctantly, the boy climbed up onto his fathers lap.

"Would you like me to explain what has happened between your mother and I?" Francis asked. James brushed his black curls from his face and nodded silently.

"When you were still in your mothers stomach, how your brother just was," Francis nodded to the sleeping baby in the cradle. "I did something very bad to your mother."

James blinked owlishly at him, staring expectantly at his father.

"She told me something that shocked me, and that made me act badly."

"What did you do?"

"We were in France at that time, remember France?"

James nodded.

"Everybody was getting very sick at that time, and nobody could help them. Your mother was frightened of it, everybody was. And if those people got sick, they would go to heaven. Everybody was very afraid. And when a girl was trying to leave her home to come back to the castle, she got stuck in an area where people were getting very ill." he said.

James settled into his fathers lap, listening intently to the tale.

"She told me that a girl needed my help since she couldn't leave a place where she was at. And that she thought she was going to join God. But she had that little boy with her, and wanted me to take care of that boy, should she go into God's hands."

"And what did you do?"

"I went to her." he admitted. James shook his head. "It was a very silly thing to do. Because the night before, my own Papa went to heaven. I was the King of France then, not a Prince."

"Like I am?"

"Like you are." Francis addressed the tiny Dauphin. "At the time, all that mattered was saving the girl and her baby-"

"Not mama? Or me?"

"I didn't know about you at the time, my boy. As for your mother, I was angry at her at that time."

"Why?"

Francis took a moment to think of the right words. He had spoken with Mary about this just after they started to reconnect, and both agreed that they wouldn't tell James about John or the complete truth of their past until he was old enough to understand. Yet here he was, not even four years old and asking questions. And they had agreed to speak to him directly about this, together, but Mary was attaining some much needed sleep after Lucian's long birth and a long day of introducing the new Prince to their most trusted circle and introducing James for the first time. He wasn't sure how to handle this on his own.

"Because she kept something very big from me. I can see why she did it, it was very understandable after I thought about it. But I would have liked to have been told what she was keeping from me."

"What was it?"

"I will tell you when your mother is awake and you are older." he said.

"But Mama always says no secrets!" he said, his voice louder than usual, but still quiet for the sake of the baby. "Shd never keeps secrets from me, no matter how big or small!" he thrust his small yet long legs back and forth in two large swings.

"It's not a secret, mon petite. We're just waiting until you can understand better." Francis ran his hand through James' silky black curls.

"But why, papa?" the Dauphin asked. "Why do you hurt my mama so, for so long? Why do you keep secrets from me? Oncle says you wish to protect us, but it isn't working!" James pushed.

"Alright, child. Let me tell you a story."

"Not one borne out of your head to make me forget? A proper story?" James asked. "Yours and mama's story?" he finished.

"Yes, child." Francis sighed. "I suppose you're old enough now." the King of France sighed. "Your mother has told you of how we met? That at her mother and my father arranged for us to wed?"

"M'hmm." Jamed nodded eagerly. "The English were closing in and wanted my mother's blood and Scotland, and mad great, great uncle Henry wanted Scotland and for her to marry great cousin Edward when he was as small as Lucien!" James pointed to the sleeping baby. "France wanted to have a big empire, and mama was the key to get it." he babbled.

"Well done, but Prince Edward was a little older than Lucien. Anyway, I loved your mama dearly when I was young, and she loved me the same. We did everything together, we protected each other and trusted each other through everything. But the monster of England kept trying to harm her." Francis sighed, remembering all those times in which English assassins had tried to take Mary's life from her when she was just a child. Sometimes she was harmed in the process, but she held firmly to her life. The very same one that he put in danger time and again. "Your mother was strong through it all, I never saw her cry during any of the times the English tried to harm her," he wasn't even sure that little Mary cried when he was taken from him at age nine. "the only time I saw her cry was when she missed her mother after she let her down time and again. Do you remember your grandmother Marie?" the fair haired King asked his heir.

"Only a little." James replied. "I remember grandmothers dark hair and piercing gaze. She didn't act like grandmère does to you, but she told me she loved mama and me before she joined mama's papa in heaven."

"One night, an Englishman in the pay of your mama's enemy, the Tudors, he harmed her with a blade. My mama and papa were told and they took her from me. They took her away from me for years." Francis let out a shaky breath. "They holed her up in a convent and banned me from sending letters to her. Your mother never told me what it was like there. But I saw how different she acted when she returned to me, the poorly healed whip marks on her back and the dark bruises on her wrists and biceps."

"How long was she taken from you, papa? Why didn't you stop them doing that?"

"I was little more than a boy then, my child. I had no power then, neither of us could do anything to keep us together. She was gone for six years. Thy kept her in the cruelest conditions, little food and heat in the winter, little water in the summer. I overheard her telling things to your aunts."

"And what did you do when mama was gone?"

"For the first year, I missed her terribly. I begged my mother to return her to me and moped for weeks on end. My mothers deluded ignorance to my pain will always be the death of her. I tried to find out where she was to send letters and gifts to her, but my father deluded me into thinking that your mother's country and our marriage wasn't the best option at that time. My heart was hardened against her and I started acting foolishly. I didn't honour your mother in any way, tried to forget her and what she meant to me. I was foolish and childish and utterly rediculous in heighsight. The playboy Prince is no role to play. Remember that when your own lady is delivered to you." Francis went off on a slight tangent, his son meanwhile absorbed every word his father spoke.

"Anne?" James asked.

"Yes. When you're older and the Princess is delivered to you, you must treat her kindly and without judgement. Do you understand, my boy?"

"Yes, Papa. But I want to hear the story!" James huffed, tightly bonding his arms around his little white night shirt and thick red robe. His lips drew into a frown, little lines appearing on a small forehead, golden eyes that were all Mary narrowing into small slits. "Tell me or I will make mama do so! She will! She will!" the small boy huffed once more, adjusting his position on Francis' lap.

"I will, I will." Francis humourlessly chuckled. James seemed satisfied, pouty lips extending out a little, hi big golden eyes string into Francis' blue ones. "When she was once more returned to me, something changed between us. I fell in love with her the moment I saw her standing with your aunts in France. But my own father taught me that wives were supposed to be for heirs and other women were for loving. But I loved your mother. And that scared me, so I tried to push her away." he paused. "It was a mistake in hindsight, but I was trying to separate love and duty. To make sure that my rule wasn't hazed because of love. I was easily taken advantage of at that time, I was a boy trapped in a man's body. But your grandmother was dead set against your mother at that time."

"How she is now?" James questioned, little fingers fiddling with his father's doublet.

"Slightly." Francis admitted. "My mother wanted yours gone, and would do anything to make it happen. On one of her first nights in the court in France, my mother made a boy do something very horrid to your mother. He tried, but your mother stopped him. So, my father sent him to heaven. As a result, a girl said something very stupid to your mother, inexcusable and idiotic. But it was moved past in the blink of an eye for some unknown reason."

"Who, papa?" James questioned, curls sliding out of place as the young child looked up at the elder man, his high necked doublet causing the little Prince a few issues with sight. "Who said something? What was it? Who did something bad to mama?" he rushed, the words with no pauses for breath.

"It was the lady with curly dark hair, mon petite." James glared in response, his eyes darkening just like Francis' did when he wasn't pleased with something. "A boy who the lady loved was paid to make sure mama couldn't marry me, because grandmere's adviser told her that if she married me, I would go to heaven." James cocked his little head to the side. "He tried to hurt her. Hurt her in a way that wouldn't send her to heaven, but would make her very sad and prevent her from marrying me."

"Like how she was hurt, grandmère?" James asked. Francis frowned, wondering how James would know of his mother's childhood rape. But, as if hearing his fathers thoughts, the little boy spoke again. "I heard her talking with Tante Elisabeth a little while ago. She said she was hurt by a man. Did she want that to happen to mama?" he asked, tightening his little hands upon Francis' doublet.

"Yes, she did. But mama stopped him from doing it. Now-"

"No, papa. Why would she want her to hurt the way she hurt? That doesn't make any sense." he shook his little head, the words slurred and a tad mispronounced. But he got his message across, small eyebrows threading together in irritation.

"Because she loved me more than she did her. And tried to get your mother to drink something that would make her sleep through it."

"That doesn't make it better, though! She doesn't make very good decisions, papa." James shook his head, emphasising his point. Francis chuckled humorlessly again, adjusting him on his lap, feeling the heir start to slip with the force of his shakes.

"No, she does not." he agreed softly. "She tries to make if seem as though her actions are fuelled by her love for her family, but that is questioned a lot." he said.

"What now, papa? What happened after that?" he questioned impatiently. "After mama stopped the bad man from hurting her."

"I don't think he was a bad man, child. I think he was a desperate man. Your grandmother has an awful habit of taking advantage of people at their most vulnerable." he said, running his hand through his son's curls once again.

James huffed. "Silly." was the only word that left his mouth. Francis nodded in agreement.

"She didn't do a good thing again, child." James groaned heartily upon hearing this, settling his head on Francis' chest and shoulder. The elder chuckled at the sight, seeing little Mary in their little boy once again. "She tried to bring somebody who papa once loved back to the castle, in hopes I would love her again and cast mama off to Scotland."

"Like what Oncle Leith did to the Marquis after Tante Claude went to heaven with her little boy?" James asked.

"How did you remember-" Francis began to ask, but shook it off, the unspoken words dying on his tongue. The child was equally as unpredictable as his parents, after all. "But yes. Oncle sent away a possible second wife, breaking off their short engagement and setting her up with another Duke that could provide more than he could at the time. Your grandmother wanted me to do that."

"But you didn't?"

"I didn't." Francis nodded. "Your mother drew me in even closer, proving her and Scotland's worth when she helped Papa and Grandmere send away evil men in France."

James smiled up at his father, pulling away from the heat of his chest to look up into his eyes, clearly proud of his mother's past actions.

"And then what happened?"

"I was going to marry her." Francis revealed. James grinned at his father. "My own father told me that it was time to finally finalise the alliance between our two countries. But my mother didn't want this to happen, remember the thing her adviser told her? That I would go to heaven if she married me?" James nodded, the grin fading. "She told your mother, in hopes that she would refuse to marry me and save my life. She didn't believe her, claiming it was nonsense, but she was scared by the fact that the adviser also said that one of her ladies would die. And one of them did. Has your mother or Tante's ever told you about a Lady Aylee Livingstone?"

James hummed in thought, before nodding. "Yes. Mama always told Tante Kenna that if I ever had sisters, one of them she wanted to call Aylee because one of her closest friends was called Aylee, but went to heaven long ago. Was she nice, papa?"

"I never really knew her, but your mother loved and trusted her more than her other ladies at that time." he explained. "Well, the Lady died and your mother was scared off into running away from French Court, wanting to save me from my fate-" Francis paused a little. Well, the prophecy kind of came true. I did technically die, after all, he inwardly acknowledged, having always held no use for Nostradamus as a seer, rather proffering him as a physician or an astronomer. "and she came back a week later." he finished. "With your Oncle Bash, who rode with her to keep her safe. They tried to go to Scotland, but it didn't work. Instead, they came back to French Court. Your mother was blinded by love and fear for me, so she tried to make your uncle the next heir, marry him and keep me safe." Francis sighed.

"But she didn't do it meanly, Papa." James interjected quietly.

"I know, mon petite." Francis nodded. "But, I was so angry with her, thinking her so foolish to act on superstition and fear. I wanted to be with her, regardless for how long. But your mother held strong, and I went away for a while. We were always going to get married, so the engagement was never really broken. Just postponed for a while. Your mother worked to get him to be a Prince, and I roamed my homeland for a few weeks. But I was always the Dauphin in that time, your uncle was never legitimised by the Pope. They were never really engaged. And your mother always loved me in that time, and I her. So, it was just a temporary postponement. But nobody knew that at the time."

James chewed on his fingers, thinking of this new revelation his father had forced upon his little shoulders.

"I roamed along France for a while. I had money and riches beyond belief, the world at my feet and so much freedom. I was horridly sad at the time, wanting your mother and my crown more than I had wanted my freedom. But I couldn't think of how to get them back. I had still loved her, despite everything she had done. And she loved me despite everything I had done." he nodded. "But a couple days before I married her, finally, I saw one of her ladies in a house." Francis closed his eyes, hating himself for his decision that day in Paris.

"Which one?"

"Lola." Francis answered.

James frowned. "The one with curly hair, silly dresses and horridly large teeth?" he guessed.

"Yes-"

"No!" James suddenly exclaimed. Francis nearly jumped at the sudden noise, looking down at the boy as he roughly hit himself with his now crossed arms. "I don't like that one!"

"I know, child." he said, his voice soft now. "I-"

"No, Papa." James suddenly stood upon Francis' lap. The man held the boy tightly, making sure he didn't fall. James narrowed his eyes at his father. "Is that one the curly haired Lady I see at court? The mean boys' mother?" he guessed.

"Yes, child." Francis admitted. James huffed.

"I don't like her, Papa. I really don't. She irritates me and makes mama sad and very angry." he tried to speak in a tongue Mary did, that could only be described as the Queenly tone, but the high pitched voice and the childishly tired slurs contradicted the stern tone he tried to use.

"I know, James. Most of the time she irritates me as well. But she didn't when I saw her long ago." Francis' words seemed to pain him now. His son spoke again.

"I'm not sure I like where this story is going, Papa." he said, his voice slow in a way that had nothing to do with his three year old tiredness.

Francis chuckled a little, hearing Mary's bluntness on their son's tongue. "Are you going to let me tell the rest of the story?" James plopped down onto his fathers' legs again, his wordless response clear. "Very good. I was very sad at the time, and she was as well. She was a really good friend to me at that time (Quick A/N, it's nearly killing me writing this bit. This is the closest thing I will ever write to anything close to Frola. I just hate it so much!) and listened in a way nobody had done before. I didn't have to hide with her, and I had to hide from everybody at that time, but not her. She listened to me and didn't try to decide anything for me-" James cut his father off again.

"Papa," he nearly warned. "Stop saying things like that. I don't like it." he crossed his little arms along himself again, glaring at his father now. Said father gave his child a half grin.

"She and I did something very bad. Does that suffice?" Francis guessed.

"Yes." James answered, before starting to think about what his father had actually said. "No. What did you do?"

Francis gulped almost audibly. James narrowed his eyes, seeing that action. "The very same thing I did to give your mother Lucien." he said.

"The thing that mama said that you're going to tell me about when I'm older?" the little boy guessed, his words misspoken.

"Yes," he nodded. "I put a baby in her stomach."

"Papa!" James exclaimed. "Why would you do that! That was mama's friend! Why? That was so mean! It doesn't matter that you hadn't seen her, that doesn't make it better, that's so mean! Silly!"

"It was. Very, very silly. I didn't mean to do that, I didn't intend to put a baby in her, or even talk to her. She was being-"

"No. You did a bad thing. No excuses." James repeated the words his mother had told his father almost a thousand times.

"Yes, no excuses." Francis agreed, wondering how his child could be so perceptive and intelligent at not even four years old. But he was his and Mary's son, after all.

From behind them, little Lucien started making noises. Francis looked up to his youngest child before looking down towards his heir who'm still occupied his lap. "I'll be a minute, mon petite." he said, lifting James up off his lap and placing him gently down onto the couch. James watched as his father came closer to his brother and lifted him up. Francis placed the baby upon his chest, holding him gently and shushing the small noises the newborn baby boy let out. The King of France murmured soft words in his mother tongue to his newborn son, gently running his hand in circles over the baby's tiny back. The little boy slowly calmed his soft cries, opening his big blue eyes to look up at his father. The baby boy blinked owlishly in somewhat recognition, letting out a kittenish noise as one tiny hand escaped the clutch of his swaddle and wrapped around one of the buttons of his fathers' doublet. Briefly, Francis wondered if his new son's eyes would remain blue or transform into the colour of his love's eyes. He couldn't help but wish for the latter, wanting to see another mix of Mary and himself in their children.

"There you go, that's better, isn't it?" Francis cooed. "Je t'aime, mon petit prince," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the baby's head. Lucien made a noise in response, cooing all of his own, blinking slowly as he was wrapped in another blanket -the baby was born a tiny bit early and it was winter, after all, and nobody wanted to risk what happened with the French twin Princesses to happen to the new Imperial Prince- and walked over to the chair.

James had perched himself up on the armrest, watching his father and brother with rapt attention. His father settled himself down on the chair, slowly adjusting his eldest legitimate son to sit upon his lap once more, laying the baby down in James' arms, settled by Francis' larger, warmed ones.

Unable to help it, James giggled at his baby brother, stroking the small golden tendrils and running his hands over the baby's face.

"Gently," Francis quietly reminded him into his ear, kissing James' head in the process.

"I know, Papa." his voice was a mix of happiness and exasperation. He looked over at his father over his shoulder. "What happened then, Papa?" he whispered, careful not to startle Lucien.

"The next day, I married your mother. It was such a happy day for all involved. I hadn't been happier until that day. Your mother made the most beautiful bride, you know?" he smiled absentmindedly. "She and I had the most wonderful time on our wedding tour. She was somehow more beautiful then. We were so happy."

James smiled at his father, a big bright beam, in fact.

"And when we came back to court, we had tried to make ourselves as happy as we were on our wedding tour. But Court, especially French, wasn't a happy or safe place." James silently nodded, playing with his brothers' fingers as he listened to his fathers' words. "Your Oncle Bash was causing problems for us, and I came to find out that your mama found out what Lola and I did. That she had my baby in her stomach." James huffed. Francis chuckled humorlessly again. "Lola made your mother not tell me, because if I ever knew, her baby's life would be worsened and her life would belong to me. And your mother also didn't tell me because she feared that if she did, she would loose my love and I would turn to Lola and stray from her."

"Please," James huffed. "That would never happen."

"You're right. It wouldn't." Francis smiled into James' curly black locks. "But she feared it. They both kept it a secret from me for a long time. During that time, mama and I were arguing about politics and we both did terrible things to each other for our countries and our own greater good. I even went to war-"

"Like mama did?" James asked, seeming to be enchanted by this little boy who lay in his arms. And who also looked remarkably bigger because of the tinyness of his own arms.

"Like mama did." Francis agreed. "But I came back to her, as always. And then, we created you." James beamed at his father, turning around his shoulder again. "You were created out of our love for each other and nothing but. Just like your brother." James looked down at Lucien again, starting to giggle. It was true, however. These boys had been created out of the love he had for his wife -although alcohol had something to do with Lucien's conception, Francis reluctantly could admit- and that was what was right. As much as he loved John, his conception had been the biggest mistake of his life and had set in motion events that could have changed the European monarchy. And whilst he could never call the boy he loved dearly a mistake, certain mistakes surrounding him had been made.

"But then Papa made another enormous mistake." Francis sighed, leaning back against the overstuffed chair, looking away from his sons and to the painting of Mary's paternal great, great grandmother and her own child in her arms, Mary of Guelders and the future James III. He wouldn't call leaving Court in the plague his worst mistake, as if he had never had sex with Lola (AN again, eww. I hate writing stuff like that), he would have never felt the need to go save the unborn baby and it's foolish mother.

"When you left mama and me?" James guessed. His voice was quiet now, in a way different to not wanting to disturb the sleepy baby. It told Francis of James' own grief to his abandonment when he wasn't even born. "When I was tiny in mama's stomach?"

"That would be it." Francis sighed, still looking away. "I know I shouldn't have done it, James. And I will forever be sorry. Impulsiveness is no quality for a King to have."

"I know, Papa." James nodded. Neither of them were looking at each other now. James was focused on the baby, Francis looking at the large, slightly withered painting, a hand resting underneath his chin and over his lips, the other keeping his Prince's secure on his lap.

"Then mama and France thought you had gone to heaven. And I was born and was King."

"And your mother gained England." Francis sighed. "Do you remember that time?"

"Only a little." James admitted. "But I remember mama not being very happy unless we were together." he looked back at his father now. Francis felt his son's eyes and looked back at him, jawline becoming more prominent and sharp with the shadow of the candlelight. "Where is Mama now, Papa?" James asked.

"She's sleeping, petite." Francis replied, an exhale making his words airy. He ran a large hand over James' curls again. "Having your brother exhausted her."

The little Dauphin and Crown Prince nodded again. He gripped his fathers' fingers as they passed down his arm and sat back on his lap, resting against his fathers' chest, holding his hand and his brother.

"Do you remember the time I was gone, James?"

"A little. I remember how sad mama was. I always wondered why she was so sad. I thought it was because of Henry or Darnley. But I didn't know that not having a Papa of my own was a bad thing until you came back."

He held his sons tighter, feeling guilt and regret twist his gut. "I'm sorry." he murmured. "I will make it up to you somehow, James. I know I haven't yet, but you have to know that I won't leave you or your brother or your mother again."

"Do you remember Henry at all?"

"I remember his face and that he was around mama a little, but he wasn't very nice sometimes." James paused a little, thinking. "What about the mean boy, papa?"

"What do you mean? Lola's son still isn't nice to you?"

He opened his mouth to reply, before James suddenly went quiet, refusing to respond to his fathers' soft and imploring words and touch. Their eyes fell to the opening door as a nanny and two guards came into the room.

"Imperial Majesty." the nanny said to Francis, falling into a deep curtsy. "Your highness's." she finished, standing up. "Forgive me, your highness's, but it is time for the Prince's feed. The Empress has just been awoken for it. Her highness impatiently awaits the arrival of her newborn son." the greying-blonde, green eyed nanny said.

"Of course," Francis said, taking the baby from James' arms after he had the opportunity to say goodnight and kiss him on the head. The nanny gently took Lucien into her arms, shushing him as the little boy let out whimpers of distress after finding himself in unfamiliar arms, before curtsying again. "Tell the Empress that I will put the Dauphin to bed imminently. She will see him in the morning."

"Yes, Imperial Majesty." she said. "Your grace." she bowed to them both, leaving with the Prince in her arms. The guards stood outside the door as it closed. Francis frowned, turning James on his lap so they were face to face.

"Why do you react this sullenly?" he asked. "James?" Francis asked, after attaining no reply again.

"You told me that Lola's son was put in her stomach because of you." James mumbled.

"He was."

"So, Lola's son is your son?" James asked, his big golden eyes now dark as he looked up at his father. James' nose and cheeks grew pink as he awaited his response.

"Yes, James. Your mother and I wanted to wait for you to be older, so you could understand. But that little boy is also my son."

"No!" James cried out, suddenly starting to thrash in his fathers' embrace. Francis was caught by surprise, but held tight until the fight had drained. Once again, just like Mary.

"He cannot be!" James wailed, his words slurred with tears and childish tiredness and emotion. "He is trying to take you from me and mama and now Lucien!" James sobbed.

"He isn't, James. I promise I won't ever leave you three." Francis tried to say, but his eldest heir clinging to him cut off any words he was about to say.

"You did once before! And that little boy is so mean to everybody! You keep leaving me and mama for him! No more, Papa! No more!" James cried out.

"No more." Francis quietly said into James' hair. "No more." he promised, kissing his head. But although James heard his father, he didn't listen to him.

"You do! Every time that little boy is mean, you go to him and leave me! You and mama always fight about him and Lola! No more!"

"James, I promise I won't leave you again. Even if that little boy is around, I'll still be here."

"No! Do what mama says! Send them away again! Don't let mama be sad and don't let him be mean! Papa, please!"

"It's not that easy, James."

"It is!"

"I know you don't understand, but that little boy is only here because he wishes to be around me as much as you do. When people thought I was in heaven, I was really raising him. He had grown attached to me because of it."

"So you're going to make mama sad and me and Lucien lonely just because you love that boy that gets whatever he wants? Papa, that's not nice!" James wailed.

"I know. And I won't do that, son. I don't keep him here to hurt you all, I have him see me occasionally because he is my son."

"So am I! So is Lucien!"

"You are, just as much as John is." James sniffled. "I don't love him more than I do you or Lucian. I feel a sense of responsibility because I gave him nice things, but those nice things make people not like him."

"But you and mama gave me nice things, me and Lucian."

"He is looked down upon because unlike you and your younger brother, he doesn't carry your mothers blood. He carries Lola's. And because he has, people are mean to him."

"Like how Uncle Bash is treated?" James asked, his voice cautious.

"Precisely. I gave John a title because he is my son and I wanted him to have a better life than your uncle did. But that had repercussions. Everybody knows that he is illegitimate because of it and because he is, people are mean to him. That's probably why he is so mean to everybody, because he is something they are not. He is jealous, James."

"But I tried to be nice to him, but he kept yelling and nearly hurting my cousins. I won't be nice to the boy who hurts people I love."

"He's angry at the wrong people, son. He is angry because he is also sad."

"What about mama? Have you seen how sad mama is when he is brought up?"

"Of course, James. But the pain she feels is lessened because she has given birth to you and Lucien. There's nothing I can do to make your mothers' pain go away completely, but with my love and you and your brother, we can make it as small as possible." Francis answered.

"And keep John away?"

"And keep John away." Francis tried to soothe, but he could tell James had more questions.

"What about Lola?"

"I care nothing for her, don't worry. She deserves your mothers' wrath and after the stupid things she has done for John, she is going to get it. And after, she'll always be gone. Only John will appear to see me every little while."

"Do you promise not to leave? Not to treat John and Lola above Mama and Lucien and me?"

"I promise, James."


	30. Chapter 30

_"Your Majesty." a soft voice said. The aged woman in black looked up slowly, she looked so fragile now. Thinner, older, more fragile._

_"What it is?" The newly appointed Queen grandmother of France said. She sounded so small, so tired._

_"The Queen Regent and Mother, your grace. She wishes for an audience." the squire said. Gulping, Catherine nodded her consent and Mary walked inside the room. The newly appointed Queen Regent of France walked inside the dim chambers of Catherine de Medici. Her body was covered in a long sleeved satin ball gown with a long train and wide skirt, her shoulders and chest bare. Covering her face and hair, trailing long past the skirt of her gown, a simple, unadorned black veil. In her arms, the recently anointed King of France. He lay awake in his mothers arms, small noises escaping him. He was donned in a little black velvet suit, gripping his mother's gown and veil, watching her eyes and the thick crown of diamonds that lay upon her forehead._

_"Catherine." Mary said. Catherine and the ladies in the room bowed. "May we have the room?" Mary asked, her own voice cracking with grief and pain like she'd never known before. The ladies and servents instantly started leaving. She waited until the door closed, starting to speak._

_"I wanted to give you something before the King and I sail to England in three days time." the Queen of Scotland and Regent of France nodded and Lady Greer Castleroy stepped out behind her, holding something encased in black velvet. The Lady curtseyed to her, before handing her the item. Catherine unwrapped it slowly, lips parting in a gasp as the crown of gold and pearls fell into her hands. "This no longer belongs to me." she acknowledged, looking down at the four month old baby gargling in his mothers arms. "It will belong to my son's Queen, whomever she may be. I thought you should keep it safe until we return." she said, her voice so small._

_"I thought I wanted this back." Catherine started. But Mary cut her off._

_"Perhaps you were right to hate me." she sighed. "Nostradamus was right all along. I brought Francis' death, just like he predicted." she sniffles, grateful for the veil covering her face and her child. "I let him sleep with Lola, get her pregnant. And I didn't stop him from running to her last year. And after what the Pope just ruled over not long ago, I know it to be true. I caused his death. And the death of my Lady and their baby." she sniffed. "If I could do it all again, you must know that if I could go back in time and change what happened, what I did, then I would." Mary said, looking down at her baby, their matching eyes interlocking. "I am so sorry Catherine." she choked._

_The Medici former Queen slowly got up from her bed. Mary didn't look up from her son, watching him and hearing the rustling of her gown. Soon, the tips of her court heels and the edge of her gown came into view. A soft hand cupped her chin over her veil and slowly tilted it up._

_"I don't blame you, child." her voice so soft and almost maternal. She didn't dare fall into that trap. Catherine always had and always would hate her in one way or another. But she listened anyway. "Francis was his own man who made his own choices. He chose his path in Paris, he chose his actions in the plague. And long ago, he chose to love you." Catheine took a breath. "I see you as children so clearly now, as if it were yesterday." she looked down and touched James' head over the veil. James gurgled in recognition, moving his little arms and flexing his little legs. "I see Francis the same age as his own son, your baby." she looked up at Mary once more._

_The new regent couldn't hold Catherine's stare, how unlike her. She bowed her head and quietly sobbed her pain and grief, sorrow threatening to choke her. The elder placed her hands on the youngers biseps. She looked up, tears gliding down her cheeks. "He loved you and you loved him. That love, it gave him so much joy. That is what you need to remember as you move ahead in this life."_

_"Move ahead?" she asked, her voice shaky with tears. "I don't know how." her voice cracked at the last word._

_"You've already started." Catherine insisted. "Elizabeth is dead. You have England. You have France. You have an empire." one hand cupped Mary's cheek, the other cupped James' head. "You have an heir. You have Francis' son, a little piece of him for the rest of your life." she paused, the hand cupping her cheek slipping down to touch her bare chest, landing right over her heart. "And you have his heart. You will always have my son's heart." she paused, stepping forward a little. "You are so strong, Mary. You will survive this."_

_But the young Queen simply shook her head and whimpered out, burying her face in Catherine's neck as they both suffered from their grief and sorrow._

"Excuse me, your Imperial Majesty." a soft voice said. Mary looked up and saw Sara, one of her bastard nieces, poking her head in the doorway. She quickly looked from side to side, seeing her large bed drowning in warm furs and blankets. Mary bit back a sense of sadness when she didn't see Francis, nor his carelessly thrown night clothes that he had a habit of leaving laying on the bed, but she quickly overcame the feeling. He had sent word that he was going to stay with James for the night.

"Yes, what is it?" Mary cleared her throat, inhaling sharply as she felt the effects of giving birth. Her abdomen screamed in pain and the lower area felt stretched out and used, raw and stinging harshly at every waking moment.

This was not one of the things she missed about having a baby.

Sara spoke again, drawing her attention from the pain she felt to her illegitimate niece.

"Forgive me for waking you madam, aunt." she amended herself, upon Mary's stern glance. "But the nannies assume that the Prince Lucien wishes to eat." Sara rushed.

"Of course," Mary nodded, trying her best not to think of the dream -flashback?- she had or the pain in her stomach. "Bring him in." she sat up slowly, hissing as the pain worsened.

"Yes, m'lady." Sara bowed out. A few seconds later, the door opened and her new baby was brought to her. Mary smiled in delight at the sight of the tiny, whimpering bundle and took him into her arms, waiting until the nannies bowed out to undo the ties on her nightgown, feeling it fall and hissing at the feeling of the bitter cold attacking her bare breast before Lucien started to suckle instantly, his small whispers settling as he burrowed into his mother's arms.

"There," Mary cooed. "That's better, isn't it?" she smiled down at the blonde haired, blue eyed baby. His small fist settled upon her chest and she covered them both up with blankets, fighting against the bitter cold of her rooms, the fire unlit. Mary smiled down at the still visible image of her newborn baby suckling happily at her breast. She gripped his small hand, pressing kisses onto his tiny fist.

"I love you so much, Lucien. You know that, yes? Mama and Papa may be going through some issues, but you and your brother mean the world to both of us." she pressed more kisses to his fist that now gripped her thumb as he sucked away. "You're so perfect, more than I ever could have imagined. You and your brother are the most important people in my life, a close second all together. I love you, I love you, I love you." Mary repeated over and over. She kissed his tiny hand again. She touched his perfect skin, running her fingers through his soft tuft of silky blonde hair, an exact replica of his father's except for the curls. Who knows, maybe when he was older, he would be the exact replica of the man Mary loved the most.

Of course, the duo still had to work through their arguement a few days prior. But there would be time for that later, they would only get the chance to see the baby as small as he was now. There wasn't a point to be sad when once has the opportunity to be happy.

Mary stared into the eyes of her youngest, wondering if his eyes would remain blue like all babies were born with or if they would turn into hers like James' did.

It was this very thing that Mary honestly wondered if she'd ever have again, when they thought Francis was lost to her forever. At times, she didn't know if she would ever have another child. Then, with Henry, the marriage was simply a political move for heirs and stability. She may have had his child, but it wouldn't have been the same.

The door opened again. In rushed James, on his heels, his father. Both seemed a little raggedy from immediate awakening from sleep, and they seemed even more adorable to her than what they usually were.

"Mama!" James smiled widely, rushing over to the bed. Francis helped him scale the bed and settled on Mary's side.

James planted a kiss to his mother, before immediately looking over to his brother.

"Hello, mama!" he smiled. "Hello, Lucien." he beamed, his voice a little warbled.

"Hello, love." Mary kissed his hair. Francis sat at her other side, watching his youngest feed from his mother. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes." James grinned, showing off his tiny teeth. "Papa stayed with me."

"How wonderful." Mary replied.

"Look at him eat." James seemd superfied by his little brother. He ran his little fingers over James' blonde hair. "He looks like papa."

"He does." Francis agreed. "And he looks like you."

"Really?" James asked, seeming ti be amazed, his eyes sparkling with his fatigue. Raven curls were messy and all over the place, pointing out in a hundred different directions. James rubbed his eyes with the back of his little fists, sniffling deeply as he looked at his mother again.

"Yes." Mary agreed. "He does." she looked down at her youngest, observing his puffy cheeks and pouted lips as he suckled away contently.

"My brother eats from you." James observed.

"He does, it's a special way for all mama's to feed their new babies." the patriarch of this royal quartet answered his heir. Francis leaned closer to them both, pressing a kiss to the side of Mary's head as he placed a palm on the back of James' shirt, steadying it before covering it with one of the blankets. They couldn't risk James getting sick in this weather. It was still very cold, after all.

"Did I do that?" the eldest of the two children said.

"You did." Mary nodded once.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not at all." she shook her head, knowing how protective James could be most timed. "It feels a little strange, but it's comforting to us both." she finished.

James placed his head on his mother's shoulder, watching his brother closer. He reached down a hand and giggled loudly as the baby wrapped an even tinier hand around his little finger. The Dauphin cooed at the baby, smiling down at him.

"Love you, Lucien."

"Bash, where have you been?" Kenna asked, leaning up onto her elbows with tremendous effort from their mattress. "I've just been to see the baby, he's such a darling little boy." she smiled. "I thought you told me that you'd go with your daughter and I to see him, last night at supper." Kenna complained.

"Yes, I did. But with Francis with Mary and the boys, I had to take over some of his responsibilities. I am still his deputy, you know." Bash answered his wife, lifting off his balearic from his shoulder, the metal of the sword clinking against the hollister as it moves. From behind him as he walked into their chambers, his black fur cape lay.

"Oh? What was that? I thought being with your daughter and I would be more important." she huffed. "Just one day where you don't solve anybody's problems, Bash. That's all I ask. That's all we ask." Kenna looked down at the sleepy little girl in red who lay upon their bed.

"It isn't that simple, Kenna. I have responsibilities now, I have a duty to my brother and Mary. With the new baby and the issues with Catherine and Spain, it won't ease up." Sebastian asked, still as slightly irritated with Kenna's neediness as ever, which only worsened when she was with child.

"But I'm having your baby, Bash. I'm close to giving birth!" Kenna huffed.

"And that is your world, but mine is bigger. As will yours be when you and Mary are back upon your feet and serving again." Bash answered. "I will be all yours when this is over." he leaned down and brushed a kiss to his wife's lips.

"That could take months." she pouted.

"It may." he agreed. "But there is nothing you or I can do about it. Besides, when Mary offered me the position of deputy, you told me to take it." he said, walking away, pulling off his dark green tunic and starting to run a wet cloth over his face, neck and torso.

"In the hopes you would rise!"

"I have, Kenna." Bash turned around. "I'm a baron, the highest thing a man like me could have."

"Francis offered you a duchy." Kenna pouted, wrapping her arms around her big bump.

"And if I took it, the nobles would kill me for it. I am a bastard, Kenna, they'd never accept it. You know this, we talked about it in France."

"I know," she huffed. "Ignore me, pregnancy makes me over emotional." she sniffed. "Anyway, what did you do?"

"Today?" the Baron and deputy asked. He turned around, slipping on a black tunic. "John is unwell, so Francis took his mother out of the tower to try and assist him. Now that the danger is passed, I had her locked back up." he replied. "In addition to giving Robert a hand sending out notifications to the world of Lucien's birth." he finished.

"What is to become of Lola?" Kenna asked, using the pillow to help her sit up straighter.

"I'm not sure, it's up to Mary, really. Not just having John was a crime, but she consorted with one of Mary's enemies to wed him. They tried for peace when her brother was betrothed to one of them, but we all know how that went." Bash reflected. Kenna shuddered at the memory of the messy break up between one of the Hapsburgs women and the earl of Moray. And with the Hapsburgs strong connection to Spain and the animosity between Phillip and Mary and the ordeal with Catherine- the Baroness forced her mind to stop wondering about the political affairs her Empress and friend would now face. She could do it, she could win, she was Mary Stuart, after all.

The young woman settled firmer into the white cotton pillows, watching her husband intently. "Yes, of course. It is an even firmer treason, John's attempted engagement, somehow worse than even sleeping with your brother in the first place." Kenna sighed.

"Indeed, she seemed to smart and strong in the start. Where did it go wrong?" Bash sighed, remembering the fondness he had once held for Lola, those few tender moments after his severe injury in Callas. But that had long fizzled out now.

"Bad decisions held bad consiquenses, my love." Kenna reached out a hand for her husband to grasp.

"Enough of that," Sebastian shook his head. "how are you feeling? With all that walking to see Mary and the new baby."

"Alright, he kicks and squirms healthily. I'm sure he's okay, even though I had the sternest look from Midwife Amelia after she saw me leave Greer's room." she chuckled.

"Greer? How is the poor woman?"

"Still in deep mourning. She considers her baby a blessing and a curse. Word has been sent to Castleroy's other children and his eldest son, affairs of his estate and things of that sort. She's seen Lucien, and that seemed to lift her spirits a tad, seeing Mary's joy. But she still mourns harshly. Rose and George spend considerable amounts of time with their mother, that seems to help, but midwives are concerned if she will loose her child if the refusal to eat carries on. I feel for her, I wish I could do something to make it better for her." Kenna babbled on, but her husband cut her off.

"I'm sure she appreciated your support in this tough time, but you must focus on our baby first and foremost. Them both, even." Bash sent a fond look Meredith's way. The girl had fallen asleep, pouted lips open as soft noises escaped her on every exhale into the covers that were fisted in her tiny hands. Long brown eyelashes flickered as she dreamed, her father's hands slowly picking up her little body with tender care. Bash tenderly held his baby against his chest as he carried her over towards the crib that had been placed in their rooms for such an occasion that the sweet girl should find her rest in her parent's rooms and not her own with her own cradle.

Sebastian slowly lowered Meredith into her small bed, cocooning the small girl into the blankets. He pressed a kiss to her cheek tenderly, brushing a brown curl from her face. Kenna smiled at the sight.

"I suppose we should talk." Francis began, settling upon the chair near Mary's bed, holding his sleeping newborn son as his mother recovered from her ordeal. "This little one stifled our trife, did he not?" Francis asked rhetorically, as if trying to make a joke out of the circumstances that Lucien came into the world from his mothers womb.

"Technically it was Kenna, but our boy did have a hand in it." Mary half smiled, looking upon her husband and her new baby with rapt attention, a sight that for years, she never thought she'd see. "I suppose we should reach an understanding of where we are with one another." she nestled into the covers, one hand reaching out subconsciously. "I don't want to fight anymore." Mary said softly. "I just want a chance for us to love each other with the boys."

"Neither do I." Francis replied, just as gently.

"So, where should we start?" she asked, setting her hands upon the shrinking bump she now sported underneath the blankets.

"Lola and my son." Francis acknowledged. "I'm not going to make any excuses anymore. I didn't manage my time with my sons well, I favoured my eldest above our own. And for that I am sorry." he sighed.

"I'm glad to hear you say it, but it doesn't make anything better. You and I talked about this when I went on bed rest, that you would be James' main caregiver until I had the baby, I couldn't play that part for a while. Instead, you picked John over him again." Mary said, her tone sad and disappointed with her husband's decisions.

"I did." he replied after a long pause. "I was told John was sickened with fever. It wasn't looking as though he would make it through. I'm his father as much as I am our sons. I had to be there with him, but-" he trailed off. "I didn't have to neglect James."

"No, you shouldn't have." Mary agreed. "But I suppose I understand. You have to have temporary priorities at points, one child over another. I just don't like the fact my child was upset over this whole ordeal. He doesn't fully understand what happened between us in France, why you didn't stay in the plague with us both. He's scared every time you walk out of a room, thinking he'll never see you again. He knows it's happened before." Mary leaned back against the pillows.

"He doesn't trust me." Francis mumbled. Mary half smiled sympathetically. "Do you?"

Mary blinked in surprise at the sudden question.

"If we're being completely truthful, not entirely." Mary replied. Francis blinked, nodding slowly.

"I understand, I won't push." he started. "But I need you to know that I don't love, nor favour, more John over James and Lucien. I love them equally. But I won't ruin or marriage to appease him or his mother." the King of France finished.

"Whilst they're nice words to hear, we need more than words. We need to see you prove your words." Mary said quietly, fiddling with the flimsy material of her nightgown. Whilst she couldn't regret her words the night she went into childbirth, Mary did know she said more than she meant. She fury she felt was illuminated by the love she felt for her eldest and the insecurity of abandonment that she and James both felt.

"I want to be better for you. For you and James and this sweet boy." Francis looked at the baby in his arms, smiling softly at the new little prince. "I want to be the man you deserve, a good husband and a good father and a good king. Not the playboy Prince and the sentimental fool that I have been. Not like my mother and damn sure not like my father." he shook his head, hating to admit that he had been acting like his father off the past four years. Especially in the topic of his own fatherhood. "But I'm not sure how to."

"Well, I'm not entirely sure how to play the role of a mother, I never knew my own and your mother is, well, you know." she chuckled a little. "We'll figure it out together." she half smiled, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. "But I need you to act like a King in some aspects of our lives. To not be so easily manipulated and not be so sentimental when it comes to John and Lola. Be a father to your son, I endource. But I don't want you to continuously place Lola on a pedestal, to keep pampering her and to keep undermining me when it comes to her punishment of her treason."

"She's the mother of my eldest child, Mary, I don't want her to suffer because of it."

"She always will, Francis. I know we weren't technically together at that time, but she committed treason. Keeping the pregnancy and birthing the child was an even worse. I know you had a hand in your Italian escape, but she nearly shook the European monarchy to her knees, giving you a reason to run into plague. Leaving an unsteady France and an unborn heir we weren't even sure about it's legal King. But the fraternising with my enemy is the last straw. She will be punished. I won't excuse treason just because of what happened between you." she finished, wishing nothing happened between them.

"I don't like it, but I understand." he looked down at the baby. "I don't want my son to grow up without a mother."

"Just because send had you bastard doesn't mean she isn't exempt from the law, Francis." Mary huffed.

"I know, I know." he said quietly.

"About Lola," she inhaled. "You and Lola and John were asleep in bed together. Why?" she asked.

"My son was sick, he wanted me and his mother with him. But he fell asleep after some tonics from sir. Matthias. I was on the bed with him, I must have fallen asleep and when I woke up, Lola was on the bed. I promise I moved immediately after I saw her. She told me that she was simply exhausted from sleeping in the tower, tried to take him from my arms and place him in his own chamber and crib, but nodded off. I didn't mean to hurt you, nor betray you, but I didn't do anything with her. Nothing happened, we just fell asleep together, nothing more."

"That's how it started in Paris. You fell asleep and woke up together, but then you slept together." Mary looked away from him, wishing that it hadn't ever happened.

"I regret it, Mary. I wish I could go back and change it, but I can't." he sighed. "But I didn't do it again, it never happened again. I know me sleeping with her set about the course of what I did in the plague, the abandonment and the betrayal, but I swear to you I won't abandon you or our sons ever again." he swore, but his eyes showed his regret and pain that was always present when they talked about the rendezvous gone wrong that happened between he and Lola.

"I hope you mean it, but I'm just so tired of all this drama with Lola and your son. It seems like every time I get close to you and let my walls down, she's there. All I want is to be contented with you and our family and rule our countries in peace, but it never happens." she sighed. "I can't deal with waiting for the next bout of unhappiness when I get contented, I don't want to live like that."

"You won't have to, I promise."


	31. Chapter 31

_"Stop it! Stop it now!" Francis snapped, gripping his eldest by the shoulders. "You need to stop acting like this. You know I love you and I always will but you need to stop this foolish behaviour and like someone befitting your station." he tried to speak calmer but it was a losing effort. He wouldn't stand for this child acting out any longer, especially when he directed anger at his eldest half brother._

"Are you sure you're ready to do this, brother?" Sebastian asked, as he and his brother and King walked in stride to John's small chambers. The fair haired King walked with purpose, hands tied neatly behind his back, chin raised. Having received word that the Dauphin would be spending the night with his mother and that Mary was recovering from the birth well, there was now no more reason to delay the inevitable.

"I have to be," Francis answered, nodding to a servent with a basket of sheets as she curtseyed deeply. "I can't let him get away with this any more. He can't act like this any longer. I know he's only a child and is infused with jealousy towards his brother, but he cannot set out to ruin him just because he envies his legitimate blood." he said, their strides long and fast as the half brothers made their way towards John's room.

"What about Mary?" Sebastian asked. Francis looked at him quickly. "Does she know that you told James about John without her?"

"No, I didn't tell her." he shook his head. "I only did it because the timing was right, James is old enough to understand. As must his mother."

"She may have wanted to be there."

"I highly doubt she would want to see her child in pain and confusion, brother." he shook his head.

"Are you trying to convince you or me?" Bash smirked, knowing full well that Mary wouldn't react well to know the most important conversation had gone down without her input or influence. Francis seemed to know, as well. But he spoke again.

"She may react badly, but I had to tell him. She has to understand. She won't like it, but she will understand."

Bash reached first, opening the door with a loud 'squeak'. The King and his deputy walked inside the warm chambers. They were slightly dim from the lack of sunlight and the windows being bordered up. A few candles were lit, a log burning in the harth hidden by a cast iron gate. The chambers were simple in the quite small room. A bed in the middle of the room against the wall, a fireplace facing it, a rocking horse and a toy box in the corner. A small bookshelf with a couple books stood in the opposite corner, next to a tall, thin wardrobe. On both sides of the bed, a small table. One held a cold bowl of soup and the other, a pitcher of water and a goblet. Small trinkets made their homes on the small tables and on the one to the left, a small candle burned.

A little figure lay in the middle of the bed. It was covered to the chin by blankets and furs, almost completely hidden by them, the pillows dwarfing his little head. Jaw length blonde hair fell in unruly directions, not curling in the slightest.

At the sound of the door opening, the small figure looked up to see who had entered. His dark blue eyes sparkled at the sight of his father and uncle.

"Papa!" he smiled, his voice congested and nasally. "Oncle!" the high pitched voice cracked with the exertion. He struggled to sit up, revealing the baggy white nightgown he wore, small arms reaching out for his father and uncle.

The King half smiled, receiving his son with a reluctant embrace, not quite sure how this conversation would go. But, playing the doting father, Francis held his boy and rubbed his back, soothing the coughs and wheezes that the boy let out. When the little boy pulled back from his fathers embrace, Francis saw the puffiness to his son's eyes and the redness of his cheeks.

John pulled himself from his fathers grip, walking on his knees to crush his warm body to his uncle's, before plopping back down on the bed, the bed bouncing in response to the sudden weight. He gave them both a toothy grin.

"John, I want to talk to you about something." Francis began.

"What, papa?" The bastard boy cocked his head to the side. "I haven't seen you in days," the almost five year old accentuated the word. "why can't you stay with me?" he questioned.

"I have, child. More than I should, but we must talk about some things." the King of France stopped speaking again.

"What, Papa?" Jean asked, cocking his head to the side even further, a tiny ear pressing itself against his shoulder.

"James." Francis started, immediately throwing caution to the wind and getting the elephant in the room out of the way, starting to talk of the boy's eldest half brother. He watched the child's expression intently, his own half brother doing the same. Big blue eyes immediately hardened, narrowing into small slits, his face slightly turning even more redder. Sebastian noticed a tiny hand balling up into a fist, whilst his half brother acknowledged the tension in his son's body.

"Why?" Jean huffed. "I don't like him at all."

"Why not?" Sebastian asked, settling beside Francis. "Why do you show such animosity towards the Prince?" he finished, careful to not mention the fact that James was -in fact- the boys' half brother. That was Francis' responsibility to tell his son, as it was his son's decision to do with the information what he will. The boy had two choices, either make peace with the Prince and secure his own future, or not acknowledge the boy at all. Having no relationship was better than a bitter one, after all.

"Because." the boy huffed, crossing his arms around his torso roughly, letting out a small 'humph' at the exertion. "Everybody is so nice and kind to him. They treat him so well and he has nice things, but people are so mean to me! They narrow their eyes at me and speak in the meanest tones, and I don't like it! Everybody is nice to him and not to me! If he wasn't there, people would be kind to me and not be horrid!"

"John," Bash came a little closer. "It isn't James' fault that people treat him kinder than they do you. The only reason they do it is because he has the Empress' blood in his veins, not any other woman's." the elder of the men gave a look to his brother, letting him know that this was the time to reveal all to his eldest in hopes of resolving this childish conflict once and for all.

"And he also has mine." Francis added, watching John's -Lola's, technically- eyes as the boy processed the information. "To be a legitimate child, your mother and father have to be married. And to be a legitimate Prince, the King and Queen must be married. Before James came into this world, I married his mother, and she birthed him." he said, explaining slowly.

"So, what? James'-" he glared at the mention of the Dauphin and Crown Prince. "mother and father are married. That doesn't mean people have to be mean to me!"

"You don't understand, John." Francis said, his voice now steady and firm paced. "I married the Empress, you know of her, yes?"

John nodded slowly. "The pretty woman with long black hair, the sparkly crown and pretty dresses?"

"Indeed." Francis nodded once. "I married her when we were in France. And a few months later, I put James in her stomach. The Prince has her blood and mine." he explained slowly. The half brothers waited a few moments for the information to process in the boys' head, and they waited patiently for John to draw his own conclusions.

John simply shook his head. Bash didn't know if he was telling them he didn't understand, or that he didn't like what his father had told him.

"To be a Prince, the King and the Queen have to be married. And whatever children come from that marriage are Princes and Princesses." Sebastian added, seeing that the elder of the duo in brawled in disaccord wasn't as quick as his younger counterpart.

"So," he swallowed. "The Prince is your son, as well as the Empress'?" John asked.

"Yes." his father answered, waiting patiently for his son to react to the news. James had reacted violently when he told him of John's true connection, how would his half brother?

"No." John huffed, shaking his head. Francis frowned. "No." he clarified.

"No?"

"No."

"No, as in you don't understand, or no as in you don't like it?" the Emperor asked.

"I don't like it!" the boy suddenly jerked forwards. Francis caught his little body easily, expecting this reaction this time. "You're my papa! Not his! Mine!"

"I always will be your father, John. But I'm James' father, too." Francis tried to explain.

"No, that means you'll leave me to go to him! Again! No, papa!" the boy insisted.

"The reason your father leaves is because he is King, his other sons are Princes. To the countries, they are more important." Bash tried to explain. He hadn't ever reacted like that when he was younger, always understanding that the children of his father and Catherine de Medici were always going to be more politically important than he was. But he had never became jealous or envious of them, he always loved his siblings. But Diane's insistence of he and her being Henry's true family and the others being show children for political interest had impacted, in a way neither good nor bad.

"Important," the boy almost mocked, he looked up into Francis' eyes. "What about me? Am I not important" his words were a little misspoken and temporarily halted by a cough.

I risked my country and it's future, my wife's life and love and missed out on a year and a half of my heirs' life for you, does that not mean importance? Francis bit back, responding swiftly with a "Of course you are important to me, but I'm a King. I have to think of political things." Francis paused, knowing the child didn't understand the meaning of political matters. "In the eyes of the world, James will always have to be more important." he attempted to explain without saying the cold truth. John was a bastard, in the eyes of the world, he was lower than a speck of dirt.

"What about to you?" John asked, his eyes wide. Sebastian and Francis shared a look, both knowing the boy was begging him to say that he was more important than James. But, the cold hard truth was this, through no ill will to the child, James would always be more important than John. Even in the role of father and not King, James and Lucien would always be more important than John.

"You all are equally as important to me." was all that Francis could say that wasn't the horrid truth that he wanted to shield this boy from for as long as possible.

"All." John crinkled up his little nose. "You told mama and I," he whipped around in Francis' lap, pointing a finger at his uncle. "that the Empress," the boy couldn't even say his step mothers' official title. It sounded like an adorable mash of letters and vowels that contradicted his irritated tone. "had another baby." he accused Sebastian, before lowering his arm and looking up at the fair haired King. "Is that baby yours, too?"

"Yes, child." Francis calmly answered. John huffed and Francis feared that the boy was already going to resent Lucien as he did James.

"John." Bash got the boy's attention again. "It is not James' fault, nor Lucien's fault, that they were born to your father and his wife and you were not. It isn't their fault that they are treated kindly because they are legitimate. Just like it is not your fault that you were born to your father and Lady Lola and not the Empress. Nobody controls whom they are born to. And because most people in the Empress' empire and your father's country are Christian, they are taught to treat people born out of wedlock with scorn and distain."

John cocked his head. "Why is James going to be King and the baby is not?" he asked out of nowhere. Bash blinked in surprise.

"Because James is older than Lucien."

"Then shouldn't you be King and not Papa?" he questioned, gripping Francis' cuff link as he spoke. "And I should be the Dauphin and not James?"

"No, child. It doesn't work like that." Bash half smiled. "You and I are born of Kings, yes, but our mothers were not married to our fathers when we were born, so we are illegitimate, ineligible to rule. Your father's mother was married to your grandfather, as a result, your father is legitimate. And because he is married to James and Lucien's mother, they are legitimate. They are able to rule."

"Could I rule if Papa had no other children?"

"No, John. You would be a threat, not a future King." Bash said softly. He remembered stories from nannies and his own mother that for three years, all Catherine saw him as was a threat. And it is true, if Mary hadn't had James and Lucien, John would be a threat to her and the safety of her relm.

"Trust me, child. You wouldn't want to rule in any circumstance. It isn't all it's cracked up to be. It's hard." Francis added.

John sat there and thought for a few moments. "So, I'm like you?" he asked his uncle.

Child, you are me. Bash thought, but responded swiftly. "Yes, you are."

"I heard people talking when Mama lived with the Knight. They said your Papa loved Oncle Bash's Mama. Is that true?" he asked his father, still sitting on his lap and looking up at him with big eyes.

"Yes, it is." he nodded, remembering his childhood in which his father doted upon his mistress whilst his mother was left numbed by his betrayal and doted upon her own children in response.

"So, you love my mama?" he asked, his eyes widening, but they became smaller when his father shook his head before he spoke.

"No, John. I don't love Lola. I love my wife, the Empress." he said. Bash didn't miss the sparkle in his brother's eye as he spoke of his wife. How could Catherine think he could ever live without her? he thought. How could the Medici Serpante think Lola could ever replace Mary in Francis' heart?

"Why?" he asked. "Why not my mama?"

"I have loved my wife ever since I met her when I was just a little older than you." Francis started. "She completes me and she makes me happy, in a way no woman has or ever will." he smiled absentmindedly. John cocked his head at his father again, right ear to right shoulder, this time.

"Is that why I always see you holding and kissing the pretty lady and not my Mama? You do it because you love her?"

"Yes, John. I love my wife, not your mother." Francis answered, wondering when the boy had seen him and Mary in an embrace, but quickly shaking it off. It wasn't the key issue here, and that in itself probably contributed to the boys anger and jealousy.

"But can't you love her? My mama?" John asked. "I want to see you be happy with my mama, not James'."

"I don't love Lola, John. I never have and I never will. A love like my wife and I share is rare to come by. I have sacrificed it once before, but I won't do it again. I love you, I will always love you, but I don't and never will love your mother." Francis finished. Bash smirked at him in pride, grateful that he had stopped being so foolish and sentimental, at least for a moment.

"But Papa, I see you being a family with James and the Empress and I want us to be a proper family, I remember a little from Italy, Papa."

"I know how we were in Italy, but your mother and I never loved each other then. We raised money to get us all back to France, to my wife. We were content to raise you there, whilst planning a route to get back, but she didn't love me and I will never love her." he paused. "We were only in Italy because I owed it to you to protect you from a disease that was spreading through France at the time, and I owed it to your mother to take care of you because she is a woman, she had nothing at that time." he paused again. "I left my wife and she had James inside of her at that time, and that was a mean thing to do. So, after taking care of you, and getting us back to safety, I owed it to James and his mother to make things right for all of us. I had been gone for so long that she had James and he didn't know me, she thought we had gone to heaven because we were gone for so long. I had ruined a lot of things, and had to make things right, after you and your mother had been settled."

"Then why did you give me to mama?" he asked, with no animosity, this time. Just childish curiosity.

"I didn't mean to. I shouldn't have given your mother you. She and I made a large mistake that set about motions that could have ruined a lot of people, sent even more to heaven before their time. I was very sad and so was she. We made a mistake, but you are not a mistake." he quickly added.

"How is James and the baby different from me?"

"James and Lucien are products of my love for my wife, something that cannot ever go away. But you are a product of your mother and I hurting her."

"Why did you hurt her if you loved her?"

"Because I didn't think I would ever see her again." Francis sighed. He glanced at his brother as he looked away from the scene.

"That is not an excuse." John seemed to glare at his father, then. Francis chuckled humorlessly.

"No, it isn't. But I am trying to make her feel better about it, and the baby helps a great deal."

"Is that why mama always cries and looks sad whenever somebody says 'Mary' or 'The Empress' or 'The Queen'? And why she was so sad when we came here?" John asked.

"She was?" Francis asked. Even Bash looked a little surprised that Lola was remorseful for what she had done and the repercussions of their actions.

"Yes." was the only response.

"Well, your mother hurt my wife more than I did. She was immediately going to go and see her after hurting her with me. We didn't meant to hurt her, and I didn't know I gave her you until a long time after."

"It's still not a nice thing to do, Papa."

"No, it is not." the King of France answered his son, wondering how the boys' mood could change so drastically in a matter of moments. To be angry at him one moment and then interrogating him the next.

"Neither is being not very nice to James because he has the Empress' blood and you do not." Sebastian cut back in.

"I can't help it." John shrugged. "People are mean to me and nice to him. It's not fair, nor nice."

"I know it isn't, but if you're mean to James when he is little, when you both get bigger, he could make you sadder." Bash added.

"Like how you are nice to Papa and help him?" John asked, small fingers finding the buttons of Francis' sleeve and fiddling with the small golden lumps.

"Yes, exactly like that." Bash nodded. Francis relaxed, they seemed to have made a breakthrough with him, but knew better than to get his hopes up. "Your father won't be around to protect you forever. If you are mean to him when he is small, there will be rage between you both as you grow up and become bigger. And when your father goes to heaven and James takes his fathers' throne, he could seek vengeance on you. You don't want that, do you?"

"No, Oncle." John shook his head.

"You want to be in a family, yes?" the uncle pushed. "Not just you and your mother and the Knight who your mother doesn't get along with?"

"Yes, Oncle. Very much so."

"Well, if you are nice to James, and all of yours and James' cousins, then you can be. I'm sure he will welcome you into his family if you're kind." the King added.

"But what of your wife, Papa?" John's eyes got big. "I heard Oncle saying how your mama was mean to him when he was small."

"My wife isn't like my mother, John. Although they have similarities, they are very different. She has forgiven me for most of the things I have done wrong to her. Mary is kind and loving, she knows you are innocent in all of this, too. Mary never wanted to punish you for anything, she understood that you are not to blame for your conception-"

"Whist your grandmother always blamed me for mine." Bash added.

"So, she's nice and kind?"

"Ever so." Francis nodded. "but she doesn't like how mean you are to James. He means a lot to her, you don't want to give her a reason to mistrust you, do you?"

"No, papa." John shook her head.

"You may not believe it, but she's always wanted to protect you from your mother and I's mistakes. Ever since the moment we returned to France, she wanted to protect you in one way or another. So long as you are kind to James, she will be kind to you."

"So, I can be in your family?"

"You already are and always will be. But, in the case of Mary and I's own family, you will have a place, providing your animosity to James ceases."

"What of my mama? Can she be in the family?"

"No, John. Your mother has hurt my wife one too many times. She can't forgive her any longer."

"Is that why she's up in the tower that makes her sneeze?"

"No, your mother is up there because she was talking to my wife's enemy about marrying you to one of their little girls to secure your future. That is very bad, worse than having you with me. And with my wife's enemies getting a little too close, Lola's betrayal is even worse."

"She did a very bad thing?"

"In the name of protecting you, but her motives behind it mean nothing. She tried to marry you to the Empress' enemy. That's a very, very bad thing." Sebastian included. "It threatened all of the countries and your father's realm and the future of the empire. It was a very stupid thing to do."

"Will you ever see my mama again?" John asked his father. "Will I?"

"That's up to my wife, Lola isn't my subject. She's still Mary's."

"Will she send her to heaven?"

"I'm not sure, child. My wife is more concerned with the enemy of Spain, rather than your mother at the moment. I won't ever see her again, if I can help it."

"Why?"

"She hurt my wife and shook my son's future. That is unforgivable. She's also said and done some incredibly stupid and illogical things over the last several years. It's a miracle my wife forgave for as long as she did." Francis nodded. "After my wife takes vengeance upon her, justifiably so, she will never see her again. Providing the group of men we have to appease doesn't want her to go to heaven, you will be passed back and forth between us. If it doesn't go that way, you will stay with me and I will protect you."

"Will you?"

"Of course, you are my son. But this foolish behaviour towards your brother has to stop, okay? You're not hurting anybody but yourself in this scenario."

John looked to Bash.

"It's true, John. If you want to have the protection that I have from your father, you must be kind and loyal to James. He will be King one day, an Emperor when he takes his mothers' throne. When you grow up, you must trust each other and help your brothers with whatever they need. If not, when your father isn't around to protect you, your brother will make you even sadder than you try to make him. He will have thrones and power and you will not. You must understand that no matter what happens, the Queen and the Princes must come first, including any other children that your father and step mother may have. Through no ill will, that is just the way of the world."

"Really, papa?"

"It's not nice, but it's true."

"You have to understand, John." the boy looked back at his uncle. "Your father loves you and your brothers, but your younger ones are legitimate, and they are the product of love. You must not resent them because of it."

"And when we were in Italy, I had to abandon France, my wife and James. I had no idea my wife carried James in her stomach for the entire time he was in there, and I hadn't met him until he had reached around a year and a half. The guilt I have turns into a need to make it right, that's why I spend so much time with him. I have to make right my mistake, not just be his father. And with the new baby, I have a chance to do everything differently. I don't want you resenting your younger brothers because I have to make something up to them." John blinked slowly, holding his fathers' forearms. "Because I missed out on so much, my wife and James don't trust me. They don't trust my love for them, and they aren't sure that I won't run away again. I have to make them secure in my love, and if you start being kind to your brother, that will help them trust that I won't take your mother and you and run away again. I can't do that to them again. It isn't right."

"But I don't like the fact that people are mean to me, Papa!"

"Maybe some of their anger is because they see you be mean to your brother and Oncle Bash's children, including the rest of your cousins. And if that stops and you get along with them, maybe that will assuade them from their anger. If that doesn't completley work, then you confront them about it, not your brother. And you tell me immediately and I'll make it stop."

John looked down at his own lap. Bash spoke.

"Being mean to James and the children will only push them away. There will come a time when you will need them and they will turn their back to you how you do them. And it displeases your father when the Dauphin tells him of the things you've done. As much as he loves you, he is a King and can't always be a father first. James knows that, now it is time for you to understand it."

John made a noise of displeasure.

"It isn't nice," Bash lifted John off his fathers' lap and sat him in front of him. "but it is the world we live in. Your father has to train your brother, he will be King, our King, one day. I'm sure that in a way, your brother loves you after learning the connection between you two, but you are making it very easy for him to hate you right now with these actions." they looked up as Francis got up from the bed and walked to the other side. He poured a goblet of water for his son and passed it over to him. John drank greedily from it, barely listening as Bash continued to speak. "And if that is true, if you don't stop, if James demands that your father picks between you, you cannot be assured that you will win."

"But I don't want to choose between you, okay?" Francis knelt on the floor. "But if you make me, then I will. But I don't want to, not at all. I want you to start behaving properly so James and Mary will accept you. And with the new baby, you have a chance to make things right between us all. So there is no more of this silly rivalry over something nobody can control. Your brother may want to trust you as I do your uncle, but you're not making it easy for him. I know you're both incredibly small right now, and so young, but you must understand these things now before you grow up into people that we cannot change or adjust for your own good."

John looked down again, starting to fiddle with his little fingers.

"Hey." Bash poked his nose. "We don't say these things to make you feel sad or bad, okay? We just want you to understand. Do you?"

"I think so, Oncle, Papa."


	32. Chapter 32

"No, Papa. No, please, no." James cried into his mother's side. Mary sat up on her bed, reclining upon the pillows, nightgown thin upon her body. The Empress sat glaring at her Emperor who sheepishly half sat upon their bed. The youngest of the quartet lay obliviously in her arms, nursing at her bared breast, wrapped up in a thick bundle of furs. The elder of the children lay at his mother's side, pressing his face upon her ribs. His small arm lay upon her torso, as if trying to cling to his mother without hurting her.

"James, come on. He won't-" Francis started, but the cry of his son and the fierce glare of his bride stifled the words.

"No, no." James shook his head. "I won't do it!" he proclaimed loudly. "I won't!" he cried out.

It was a dark morning in the palace that the royal couple were residing in. It was cold and bitter, the snow high and the heaths hot. But the temperature in the room was stone cold. The King had confessed to revealing the true connection between his sons, and of the new fact that the eldest wished to see the the elder of the two laying near their mother upon that bed. But none of the trio were contented with his new information.

Mary blinked at him, eyes narrowed into small slits. His wife's jaw had been clenched the moment she had heard that he had spoken to his sons about their true connection. He wanted to talk to her about everything, to explain and make her understand but James had to come first.

"James," his father started. The boy blinked rapidly, peaking out from his mother's dress. "I know what he's done has hurt you, but he understands that it was wrong. Mean and wrong. He wants to make it right, to apologise." Francis cried to soothe. But the boy shook his head.

"I tried to be nice so he would be nice to me. But now he's stuck here forever and going to make everybody unhappy! I don't want it!" he replied, his voice louder than normal but quieter than a cry.

"He won't, son. Oncle Bash and I talked to him about his behaviour, he knows it was wrong, wishes to apologise for his actions. They were born out of jealousy, because you are the heir and he is not." Francis' words were spoken as if he wished to soothe, but it did little good.

"No, Papa. I don't want to go and see him. You can't make me."

"No, I can't." Francis agreed. "And if you really don't want to go, I won't make you, alright?" James peaked curiously up at his father. "But John really wants to make things alright between you. He sees how nice Oncle Bash is to me and wants to treat you like that."

"No, Papa." James said. "I don't want to. He might be my brother, but that doesn't mean I have to like him because of it." he spoke, his words quite misspoken as it always was when he tried to speak in a vocabulary that was older than his own.

"No, you do not." Francis soothed. "But if ever you want to have your brother at your side, he will be."

"I have one," James sat up, pointing at the sleepy baby guzzling at his mothers' breast, his eyes fluttering as tiredness overtook him as it always did after he contently sucked at his mothers' breast. "He's my brother and he will be with me."

"He will," Francis agreed. "Very well, if you want somebody who acts like Oncle does for me, it'll be him, okay?"

James gave his father a long look, not nodding but seeming to understand.

Francis looked up at his wife. Mary blinked at him, reading his wants through his eyes as she always could.

"If he doesn't want to know your son just yet, you must not force him. Follow his lead." the Empress replied to her husbands' silent request that she assist him in this conversation.

"I will." he nodded. "But-" Francis was interrupted not by his wife, but by James.

"No yelling." he quickly said, those big golden eyes of his widening as his parents started to speak.

"We're not going to yell, my love." Mary ran a hand through his black curls, her heart aching at the immediate response he had when his parents talked of uncomfortable matters. She had to make up for yelling at Francis whilst he was there, apologies not being enough to settle his little mind, she saw. Perhaps a nice day out at the coast when the weather grew warmer or a sleigh ride all over the estate the next day. "We're going to talk." she affirmed softly.

"Yes, we are." Francis added, noticing the uncertainty in James' eyes immediately after he and his wife spoke of one of the most complicated factors in their marriage, young John. Or, more specifically, the matter of John and his mother.

He opened his mouth to speak again, interrupted not by the elder of their sons, but by the quiet yawn of their youngest. His little mouth opened in a perfect 'O' as he yawned, a small kittenish noise escaping his mouth as those big blue eyes opened again. Mary smiled down at the baby in her arms, his brother leaning over to giggle at him and touch his chubby cheeks, the skin petal soft.

Francis smiled at the scene, the tension temporarily broken by this sweet, perfect scene. How he loved to see it. Mary, his beautiful, enchanting wife with their perfect children, the epitome of contentment and sweet motherhood. Motherhood suited her well, Francis acknowledged for what felt like the millionth time.

There was something very motherly about her long before she was one, however. Her maternal instincts had always been there when his younger siblings needed it most, shown most vividly when they were children and even as adolescents, regularly playing surrogate parents for his youngest siblings when Henry was too busy with his throne or his whores and Catherine spending her time poisoning her enemy and playing the doting wife to the husband she loathed. Yet with her own child in her arms, it became so very apparent that this was the job she was meant for, not just Queen or Empress, but mother, too. Holding her son, she looked a little older, yet no less beautiful. In fact, her beauty somehow increased tenfold when she was with their children. Indeed, this was who she was. A true Queen and a natural born mother.

When the baby settled into a light slumber, the air coaxed from his little stomach, Mary looked back up at her husband. James started nuzzling contently into her shoulder, trying to find his own slumber against the one who he loved the most, just like his younger brother.

"Sebastian came to see me today." Francis informed.

"Oh? What did he say?" Mary asked, observing the reaction of her husband as he spoke.

"We don't have the time to deal with the issues of my mother nor Lola right now. Before we set sail to France after he-" he quickly glanced down at the baby. "grows stronger and the weather grows warmer, Lola will be placed in the custody of Lord Bothwell. Imprisoned in the tower of London, but under his custody. And will be until we have settled the issue of King Phillip and the Vatican." he said.

"Lola will be gone?" James seemed rather awake now, for being previously nestled into his mothers' shoulder to go to sleep.

"Yes, love. She's going to be leaving." Francis nodded.

"And Catherine?" Mary asked, feeling that sense of weariness whenever she spoke of the Medici matriarch who had betrayed her time and time again.

"She'll be taken to France to be legally interrogated -travelling with Martine- not us. We'll find out when she knows, use it against Phillip. And providing we either win this battle with him or it doesn't come to war, we'll figure out what to do with her next. I cannot banish her. She knows too much about us, our weaknesses and secrets. Maybe place her upon house arrest with your men, men she cannot bribe, has no weight over nor any powers of manipulation." he said slowly, remembering the time his mother had told him about Mary's almost completed plan to exile her from France after she caught her corresponding with Elizabeth when she was pregnant with James. If Mary hadn't stopped the plan and hadn't instead locked her away in her rooms for months, Catherine could have used those months to ruin her and her grandson, something of which she apparently had no issue doing, given current circumstances.

"I'm grateful." Mary nodded, having always felt unsettled by Catherine ever since she turned on her when Francis returned from Italy and the grave.

The door knocked. Mary called for whomever there to enter.

In walked Steven, her bastard nephew, spy and page.

"Aunt, Uncle, cousins," he bowed. "The Lady Castleroy asks to take the Dauphin to his chambers to rest, and the nanny Josephine wishes to place the Prince in his own crib for the night."

"Yes, of course." Mary nodded, hating to be away from her children, but understanding it's necessity. She had to heal from such a traumatic and long birth and loosing so much blood, and that couldn't be attained with two children and a husband in her bed, unfortunately.

In walked Greer, pale yet somewhat better than the last time Mary had seen her.

"Majesties." she curtsied, walking forewarn and taking the sleepy Dauphin from the bed, Josephine gently taking Lucien from his mothers' arms.

"Just to sleep, Tante?" James asked, his eyes big and wide. "Just to sleep?" he repeated, digging his small and long fingers into Greer's arm as she picked him up, suddenly fearing that Greer was there to take him to John, which he absolutely did not want to.

"Just to sleep." the blonde affirmed.

Francis slowly stood from his chair and went to them, bidding his sons goodnight with promises to see them in the morning. Mary watched him with their sons with rapt attention, observing his actions with them.

For a moment, the Empress wondered what it would have been like if Francis hadn't left for Italy. To receive a note in his calligraphic handwriting, to observe it as though the piece of parchment was a light in the midst of so much darkness. To read the words, I love you, I miss you, we're safe, we will return as soon as we are able. To have those seventeen words comfort her in a way she couldn't explain, to give her reason and hope that he was alright and that her baby wouldn't have to grow up without a father. She pinned for that love and trust and support, it had nearly killed her when she grieved for Francis, to have to rule alone in James' stead, empire falling upon her grief weakened shoulders.

When Mary attained England and the two smaller countries, she had had to forget her grief for a good few months, almost four. Many had tried to pray upon the bereft Queen turned Empress and regent, something that Mary simply couldn't let happen. She had to protect her child's future, so she did. It had taken months to solidify her power and rule, placate the nobles and appease the working man, for the English to accept a Scottish Queen with a basically French heir. Some days it seemed impossible, god only knew how she managed to settle her new countries into a new age of religious tolerance and stability. Somehow, she managed it, practically feeling the long dead Henry's smugness for his bloodline to one day rule England. But combined with the things learned during her early rule and finding out how she even attained the throne of France and keeping it from the grip of Stephanè Narcisse, it had seemed like a challenge that was somehow attainable. And it became true.

Josephine left with the baby. But Greer stayed with James in her arms, shushing him as Francis started to bid him goodnight. But she heard him say the name of his eldest son multiple times. When he finished, Mary spoke.

"Love," Mary nodded. Obediently, the little boy covered his ears with his small hands, still in Greer's arms. She didn't want him hearing anything else about his parents' rather rocky marriage. Seeing that he couldn't hear anything, Mary turned to her husband. "If you want them to resemble yourself and Sebastian, you must take a step back. James is the more reluctant, you must follow his lead. I am not happy that you spoke to him without me there, neither am I happy that you took it into your own accord to inform them both of their biological connection, but James told me you told him that you listened to him in a way you never did before, so do it again. Follow James' lead, because you're dangerously close to ignoring his wishes and following only your own and your other son's. Don't repeat your mistakes, or the repercussions will be great."

"I'll miss you, Papa." James said into Francis' neck. The King of France stood holding the young Dauphin of France in his strong muscular arms, blonde curls long against his shoulders. He wore black, leather slacks and knee high boots, thick velvet protecting him from the cold December nip. Golden hair sparkled just as much as the embellishments of his doublet. He stood calmly, his son in his arms as they said goodbye. James' arms were wrapped around his neck, red velvet and silver satin decorations covering his small black tunic. Having just woken up from a nap, the boy's hair was disheveled and eyes half lidded. He looked up with big golden eyes, clinging to his father, small fingers tight against the thick material of his doublet, knuckles pressed against the warm skin of Francis' neck.

"I'll miss you too, my love." Francis calmly replied, his arms large and warm around the boy's back as he settled upon his hip. "Your brother and I will return in three days time." he said, his voice soft against the silky curls of his sons hair. Warm puffs of breath het Francis' skin as his small son clung to him as they said goodbye.

"But that's so long." James complained, black curls falling behind his ears as he looked up at his father, wrapping his arms tighter against his chin. Francis kissed his forehead, running a hand down his face, pushing an errant lock from his cheek behind his ear.

"You get your mother all to yourself, my love. Your brother and I won't take any of her time away from you." he half smiled, holding his sons little warm body closer to his own. The boy mewled as he was held tighter, pressing his face into his father's chest, searching out a heartbeat that comforted him.

"I know, papa. But I'm going to miss you and my brother very much." the boy said. Francis dropped a kiss to James' cheek.

"We won't be gone for very long. Only long enough for your brother to be christened. And then we'll come back to you and your mother. I promise." the elder said, leaning down to place his head upon his son's. "I'm coming back." he whispered. "Papa's not going anywhere this time." his voice was quiet. "But while I'm gone, you're the master of the palace. And I need you to take care of your mother until I return." the King of France ordered. James toothily grinned at his father, another hand leaning up to grip a small handful of golden ringlets.

"I will, papa." the boy nodded.

The door opened and Sebastian walked inside. He held a heavy cloak of brown and grey fur, thick bronze felt and black embellishments in his hand, a tired smirk on his face.

"Forgetting something?" Bash asked, slinging Francis' cloak onto a chair and plopping down on another, all bundled up in black furs and leathers.

"I'm busy." Francis huffed at his elder half brother. Bash smirked at him and made a face at his nephew, who giggled in response, before he looked over at the third and fourth members of this little family.

"Sister," Bash nodded. "Are you feeling any better?" the baron of Belay asked, remembering Kenna's frets about Mary's recovery from the birth seeing as though they had hit a little standstill in the complete recovery. Whilst she hadn't been bleeding much any more and showed little signs of infection, the fever, nausea, weakness and vomiting she had been feeling for three days had unsettled her physicians and midwives, so much so that she hadn't allowed herself to breastfeed Lucien this morning, fearing an infection that could harm the baby. The fever had been the last straw for them and as much as Francis wanted to stay with them and care for his wife, since she wasn't able to attend the christening -she hadn't recovered from the birth, with the addition of these new signs of illness and the churching issue- it was up to him to lead the charge of the new Princes introduction into the world.

"A little," Mary admitted, her voice weak as she lay upon the bed, sprawled in the mattress, head and neck propped up by the pillows. "Not much, though."

"We've sent word to the physicians that reside here and the neighbouring towns. Sir. Matthias and his flock work tirelessly to find a cure." Bash nodded as Francis quietly comforted his boy, who wasn't happy that his father, uncles and brother were leaving for London for the christening.

"I'm glad." Mary rubbed her face, mopping thr slight sheen of sweat from her brow with a cool, damp rag. She inhaled deeply, her eyes closing for a beat, listening to the gentle murmurs of comfort from father to son before there was a dip on her bed. Mary opened her yes to see Francis leaning down towards her, James sitting upon the corner of the bed, knees pulled up to his chest.

She made a small noise as Francis placed a few gentle kisses upon her lips, letting the golden orbs flutter open to focus on his statuesque face.

"I hate to leave you like this." He gentle skimmed his fingers down her arm, slowly sliding them into the spaces between her own.

"I'm alright." the Empress said quietly. "I promise."

"I don't have to go, perhaps Bash or Leith can take my place. I don't want to leave you when you need me."

"No, Francis. Our son needs you with him, I'll be okay. I promise."

The fair haired King sighed, placed his forehead upon hers. Their noses touched and Mary sighed in pleasure, enjoying the soft comfort he was giving her. Although they would always disagree upon something or other, their devotion would never change.

"Don't you dare leave me. I can't afford to loose you." his voice was quiet.

"I won't." she promised quietly, hoping she could actually keep her word like he would keep his.

"Is he ready?" Sebastian asked the matrons who were getting the young Prince ready for his christening. The tiny boy was wrapped up in his intricate robes, contently fiddling with a silver rattle as the females dressed him up.

"Yes, your Grace." A young, green eyed brunette in a cream silk gown and a matching veil replied. "The Prince is content, we are simply waiting for the King of Nevarre and the Lady Jean Stewart to collect him."

"Very good." Bash nodded once, leaving the long chambers to walk upon the hallways of Hampton Court. It has been decided that the King Antionè of Nevarre would godfather the child, settling protestants who were displeased of a continuing Catholic rule. And Mary's bastard half sister, Jean, would godmother the little boy, a way to settle Scotland, who anxiously awaited the sight of her Queen and who weren't happy about the fact that the aforementioned Queen would be setting sail to France in a few short months.

"Francis." Sebastian said, opening the door to his half brother's chambers as handmaidens assisted the King pull on his impressive doublet. It was substantial, clearly overseeing a good few under layers. The top material was a blood red satin, glistening in gold embellishments and small gems. His scabbard and baldric were also impressive. A crimson material covered in gold satin embroidery with a long, silver hollister that was covered in sapphires, emeralds and black iron designs.

"Brother." the King greeted. "Is everything prepared?"

"Yes, Majesty. The procession is set to walk and Antionè must be finishing his dressing."

"And our sister?"

"I walked past the lady Jean a few moments ago." Handmaidens stopped fiddling with the Emperor's doublet. "Ready to go?"

"Absolutely."

The procession carried the newborn Prince to the Chapel Royal where he would be christened. It held all the pomp and pageantry befitting of a new imperial, pure blooded legitimate heir. High ranking members of English, Scottish and French court and the clergy were required to take their place, as well as foreign diplomats and ambassadors so that they could report back to their masters and mistresses on what a spectacular event the new prince's christening had been. The regent of England had pulled out all the stops, putting all of Kenna and Catherine's parties that they had pulled together in the past to shame.

In its grandeur, some replications of the long dead King Edward Tudor's christening were echoed. Four gentlemen of the court -two of political matters, two of the cloth- bore torches in their hands that were not to be lit until the newborn Prince had been christened.

Ministers of the chapel walked upon thr procession of nobility, along with gentlemen esquires and knights, cardinals, a few privy council members, two lords, the treasurer of each countries treasury, ambassadors and the most politically important lords of English court in he midst. The privy seal and the lord chancellor, the duke of Norfolk and another representative of the vatican. A few dozen more nobility walked the charge of the procession. Next after the Earl of Essex, the lady Jean Stewart, being lady godmother, her gown impressive and a blue-silver, looking down admiringly at the newborn who was nestled comfortably in King Antionè's arms, the Prince's christening gown long and white and substantial.

Within the Chapel Royal, the spectacular christening stage was raised up on a huge structure which took up almost all of the chapel, again replicating the christening of the then Prince Edward. The stage, brought about by the eighth King Henry's time, was designed as such so that everyone in attendance could view the new prince. A proud cardinal performed the christening, speaking loud and clear for all to hear, proclaiming the new Prince's titles, Prince Lucien, Duke of York and Aberdeenshire, Earl of Chester and Glamorgan, duc dè Orleanś. The Te Deum was then sung, and spice, hippocras, bread and sweet wine were served to all involved, before little Prince Lucien was returned to his father's arms where he would stay for the rest of the afternoon, only leaving the comfortable space to reluctantly suckle from a wet nurse and to be cleaned and changed by nannies who had accompanied he and his father on the trip from the south of England to the busy London.

"Introducing his royal highness, Prince Lucien, first of his name, of the house of Valois-Angulème-Stuart, Prince of France, England, Wales," the herald had cried upon the Prince's christening. "Duke of York and Aberdeenshire, Earl of Chester and Glamorgan, duc de Orleanś. Long may he reign!"

Later on, at the celebration of the new Prince, Bash pulled Francis aside to converse with his brother for one of the first times that day. Of course, it couldn't be helped. It was one of the first times the King and Emperor made an appearance in court since Mary went into confinement for the boy's safety, and a King's work was never done. It has been like that in France, too. Courtiers and ambassadors begging the King for an audience, but it didn't get less irritating as the time went by.

"Well, it's been a lovely ceremony, hasn't it?" the Baron asked, sipping from a goblet of wine. The King smiled at him, newborn boy still in his arms.

"It has, James spared no expense."

"Is that wise? Considering the issues with the Vatican and King Phillip?"

"We want to end things like this with diplomacy, not war. When Mary heals and we travel to France, we are most likely set to meet with our brother in law, see if we can sort the issues he and Mary have with each other without the risk of blood flow. It would be nice, but Phillip is-" Francis trailed off.

"I understand," Sebastian smiled, giving his King the grin he had given him on the night he and Mary had announced her pregnancy publically, and the following ball of celebration of the unborn heir. "Ruling is a burden I will never fully understand, but from the letters we recieved from Elisabeth, things with him have never been-" he paused to find the word. "simple." Bash decided.

"Look at out family, Sebastian. We have never been simple." Francis chuckled, before both caught sight of young Steven rushing towards them, donned in riding clothes. His hair was all over the place and his eyes were frantic and wide.

"Uncle, you must return to us quickly." Steven rushed, but made himself quiet and unrecognisable enough to not cause attention to himself.

"Why? What has happened?" Francis asked.

Steven fished out a crumpled note from his pocket and gave it to his King. Francis passed the baby to his brother and read the note, written in scrawled handwriting, as if it had been done in a rush.

"My honourable King," it read. "I beg that your return to the palace our Queen and Empress resides in, as her highnesses health has taken a turn for the worst during the night. Physicians are doing their best for her, but my dearest Queen begs for your highnesses presence, along with your sons. Her health has rapidly deteriorated over the past five days and we fear the worst should her Majesties fever not break soon. Your humble servant, the Lady Greer Castleroy."

"Francis, what is it?" Bash asked, noticing the paleness of his brothers fave and the wideness of his eyes.

"We have to leave." he breathed.

"What? We're due to leave tomorrow morning."

"Not then, now. Mary has taken ill in the night, I have to be there with her." Francis said, his words quick and precise. "Get a wet nurse and a nanny, ride with them and my son to the Palace." he ordered like a King. Bash nodded quickly, knowing not to question. "I'm riding with you, let's go." he ordered his bastard nephew in law, before looking at his bastard brother. "Tell James to make up an excuse to why we left early. Dont tell him anything about Mary."

And then, Francis left.

He and Steven rode all night to get to the small palace in which they were staying. The fair haired King ran straight towards Mary's chambers, ripping open the doors, not to find a frantic dozen physicians, but rather a calm atmosphere that was the last thing he was expecting.

"Francis, you're here. I'm glad you got our message." Kenna smiled from a chair.

"Is everything-" he trailed, looking from her to the sleeping form of his wife in the bed.

"Everything is content. The threat is over. We found the cause of her sickness."

"What was wrong with my wife?"

"Poison, Francis. It was an assassination attempt on Mary and Lucien."

"The baby? Why would anyone harm a newborn?" he almost growled. "My newborn and my wife?"

"King Phillip." Kenna answered almost casually. "We have no proof it was him, don't even know what was poisoned, but we know he has the strongest motive." she paused. "If Mary was poisoned, it would transfer into the baby, seeing as though she feeds him from upon her breast."

"Who found it?" he asked. "Tell me, please."

"I did, my son." came the answer. But it didn't come from Kenna, nor Mary. But from across the room. Francis slowly turned. And there, sure enough, was the answer.

And there, stood Catherine de Medici.


	33. Chapter 33

"Mama." James smiled, rushing into the room where his mother and brother lay. Reclined upon the pillows, Mary was settled comfortably. Her white nightgown hung slightly on her frame, shrinking bump disguised under the mound of blankets and furs that lay on the bed. Neck and shoulders exposed, the sleeves were oversized on the arms, clinging only by the weight of her newborn baby that fed upon her breast.

"My love." she smiled. Smiling wide at her, the little boy scaling the bed and settling at her side.

"Missed you." the boy smiled. Mary pressed a kiss to his hair and he petted his brother's blonde hair.

"You too, Lucien." he giggled.

"Mary." a tired voice said. Looking up, she saw that it was her blonde haired Lady had taken her son in to see her and stood a few feet away.

"Greer," she smiled as much as possible, her heart aching at the sight of her grief-stricken friend who was her most precious Lady, even more than the Baronness, who could be a little vain and materialistic at times. "Please, sit." sbe nodded to the chair Francis had so recently vacated.

Greer quietly sat upon the chair, looking slowly at Lucien before his mother. "How are you feeling?"

"Still quite sore, but it's worth it." she smiled softly at the newborn boy. "And you?"

"Sad." Greer admitted softly. "This baby, I-" she trailed off.

"I know." the Empress half smiled sympathetically, knowing full well the pain her dear lady was going through. Reaching over for a few small cakes that servents had left at her most recent yet almost constant tea time, she passed them to her friend. She could remember Kenna's fears of the dowager Lady losing her baby because of her grief infused refusal to eat.

"Here, for the baby." she smiled softly, repeating the words Greer had said in France when she was still pregnant with the little boy who sat giggling at his little brother as he fed from her.

"Thank you," she said, her voice soft and tired. Mary nodded and reached again, sipping on a cup of hot tea quietly as Greer finished the little cakes in silence.

"I received word from your brother James."

"My regent or my commanding officer, or my religious tolerance enforcer?" she asked, not liking the fact so many of her half brothers were named after her father.

"Regent." Greer half smiled. "He's received word from Denmark."

"Denmark? Is it about the marriage between James and Princess Anne?" she asked, watching James look up at the mention of his and his betrothed's names.

"Yes, he says that the Princess is ready to set sail as soon as you give the word."

"I'm not sure if I want her to sail to meet her future husband yet, we're still not friendly with Spain and the Vatican isn't happy with me because of it, with the addition of Anne's protestantism."

"Well, I'm sure the offer will stand." she said, her tone now a little faint.

"Mama?" James asked. "Anne?" the little boy finished. The two little royals had sent squiggly letters to each other for a couple months and had seemed to have formed a bond. It was something that the Empress approved of, seeing as though when she had came to France as a five year old girl, she had no idea who anybody was and found it hard to bond with her resentful betrothed at first.

"Yes, Anne." she said, referencing the little Danish Princess of whom her son would probably marry. "She'll be here in a while."

That seemed to appease her almost four year old son as he gave her a big toothy grin, before becoming rather distracted with his brother's little hand as it moved.

A few minutes of comfortable silence went past, in which Greer had pulled a book out and Lucien had finished eating. "Will they wed?" Greer asked her suddenly, reaching for a goblet and filling it with water, sipping slowly. "James and Anne, will they wed?" she finished.

"I assume so, if all goes to plan." she nodded, slowly coaxing air from her baby's stomach.

"And the Princess will come to where?"

"Wherever James is, I suppose. Francis and I are going to take trips all around our countries to rule every few months." Mary clarified.

"And the wedding?"

"It's a few years away, Greer." Mary chuckled. "But I imagine it'll be in France and they'll live in England or Scotland."

"Will it be like your wedding?" she asked. "Considering what happened the day before." she finished.

"I'm not going to let my son make his father's mistakes." Mary shook her head, remembering the moment when she figured out what happened with Francis and Lola, which prompted her to find out from some of her working girls.

_This was very bizarre. Mary admitted to herself silently as she entered the consummation room. Her body trembled in anticipation for Francis' touch, even though the last time she had felt it was less than a day ago, but the lust pooling inside her battled against the nervousness and awkwardness she already felt inside herself. The Queen of Scotland and the new Dauphiness of France nervously turned around, letting Kenna slip off the lace robe that she wore over the ill fitting consumable robe that was obligitory on a proper Catholic wedding night. She felt Greer brush out her hair from it's loosened twists and long curls, Lola slowly rubbing scented oils upon her neck and behind her ears. She exhaled nervously as she heard the door open again, over the russles of courtiers bowing and the murmurs of the Vatican blessing the bed._

_When her ladies finished preparing her for the ceremony, she nodded as they curtseyed to her and took their places a few feet away from the bed._

_Gulping in nervousness and excitement, the raven haired beauty looked upon her new husband and master as he came close. Francis took small steps towards her, a boyish grin on his face as a hand extended put from his own consummation robes, but even she could see the uncomfortableness he felt at this certain tradition that they couldn't get out of. But, she took his hand and drew herself nearer to him. They came close and shared a nervously excited grin, before their lips met again._

_Mary smiled to herself as she felt the petal softness of his lips. She had felt them a thousand times since her return to France not that long ago, but the feeling never failed to excite her as she took in their softness and heat, even as he backed her up towards the bed, just like he had done on their first night together._

_Their lips stayed together, growing in intensity and need as Mary crawled backwards and Francis climbed onto the bed after her. She let out a soft moan, their tongues meeting for the first time in a mere few minutes which felt entirely too long. A hand slid into his long blonde locks and made a fist inside them, holding him closer to her as she reclined against the pillows._

_Her husband pulled back for breath several seconds later, rubbing his nose against his wife's as her eyes opened, pupils dilated by a growing need pooling inside her and the dim light of the candles and the fire._

_He brushed a kiss upon her lips._

_"I love you." Francis breathed upon Mary's parted lips. She murmured the same against his own, before they disappeared to dance upon the skin of her neck. Soft means left Mary's lips as they completely settled under the covers. Mary hid them from view as much as possible, but feeling the Vatican's cold glare as she moved the sheet a little too high upon her new husband's back, she lowered it once more, closing her eyes in an attempt to hide from the two dozen people who watched them intently._

_Her husband's mouth climbed back up to her lips. They shared a long kiss, before his mouth found her ear._

_"We'll finish this as quickly as possible, and then we'll have the entire night to ourselves." he whispered, knowing how uncomfortable this tradition made them both._

_Mary nodded softly, brushing her nose against his again, before slowly sliding her hands down his chest and torso as she had done last night, but a quick pause for breath in Francis' ever growing lustful kisses caused her to look the other way, finding her ladies._

_They all looked uncomfortable, no doubt, she thought. But why did Lola look so guilty?_

She sighed deeply, coming back to earth, pressing a kiss to James' dark curls as Lucien lay in her arms. The mother looked down to see him sleeping in her arms, gently snoozing, little kittenish 'awoos' leaving his pouted and parted lips. James rested his head upon Mary's shoulder. He fiddled with the long black strands of her hair absentmindedly, before his little hands found his brother's face.

"Gently." Mary reminded. He nodded, humming contently. "You mustn't wake him."

"Yes, mama." James nodded, watching his brother's lips puckered in response to his touch. Feeling that he may be disturbing him, James' hands left his brother's face and returned to his mother's hair. He fiddled with it, not really listening as Mary and Greer talked about things he couldn't understand.

The little boy looked around for a few moments, tugging upon her hand when he noticed something.

"Mama," he said. "Where's papa?"

"He's taking to somebody very important to him, love."

"I don't understand any of this." Francis admitted from his wife's side. He sat on the bed, holding her hand as she lay back against the pillows, Lucien suckling hungrily and greedily from her breast. In front of them, Catherine sat upon an overstuffed chair. Kenna had taken James away long ago, the Baroness resting in her chambers and the Dauphin playing with Leith and Meredith outside.

"What would you like me to explain, my love?" Catherine asked, her voice soft. Soft and maternal that it unnerved Mary. She knew never to trust Catherine, and was weary of the sudden change in affection in her. First, she hates her for a decade and a half, then the Medici noblewoman supports her like no other when they thought Francis was dead, then she betrays her time and time again, now Catherine saves her from poison? It didn't make any sense to Mary, who was already disorientated by the mix of tonics and herbs inside her system.

"How this all happened." Francis answered. "How Phillip nearly took them both from me." his eyes hardened and jaw locked at the second phrase he let out. Mary placed a hand upon his forearm to calm him, and it seemed to work. Catherine watched as her son relaxed considerably, before his wife went back to holding their baby securely to her breast as he took nourishment from his mother.

"It was the candle." Catherine took the small stick in her hand. It looked like any other candle. White and cylindrical but with little green and purple flecks inside it. It was lavender, but apparently there was a secret third ingredient. "It was laced with poison, let off in small quantities, released into the air by the flame." Catherine touched the burnt little nib at the top. "It is much like the candles in your chambers in France, do you remember?" the Medici matriarch asked the young Scottish Empress.

Indeed Mary did. For weeks, poison was slowly laced into her system by burning candles. It had only been when Sterling had started barking insistently upon seeing his mistress go down that made Catherine turn her over -when Mary had suddenly and unexpectedly keeled over onto the settee in which she had been laying- after story time with the other children, and saw the blood from her nose and the daze in her eyes had they noticed something was wrong. It had been terribly unsettling, another assassination attempt by the English. But Mary hadn't been frightened in the slightest. The children had been shaken, but not the five year old Queen. It had happened so often in Scotland, why would it be any different in France? She had only been there for four months at that point, only started getting along with little Francis. But that event had solidified his protectiveness of her, and it hadn't lessened since.

"I do."

"But this is different. The poison then was fast acting, which is why you bled. This one is slow, giving plenty of time for the killer to escape undetected."

"Well, who is it?" Francis glared. "What physical form tried to kill my wife?"

"Your bastard brother is working upon it. That's why is is Leith that is with your son in the snow." Catherine informed. "Hush now, let your mother tell her tale." she spoke as if still speaking to six year old Francis, how she had done to reassure his fears of Mary's safety the night they had found the poison in Mary's chambers. Francis' eyebrows rose, but he kept quiet. "This has been burning for a number of days. It's a miracle that that baby hasn't been affected by it."

"He is strong. He has his mother's blood." Francis interjected. Mary smiled at him, but saw emotion in his own mother's eyes.

"Be that as it may, it is good you took him away to be christened. It saved him from suffering. It seems the more it was burned, the more poison was laced into the air," she looked at Mary. "that's why you took a turn for the worst in a way you hadn't done before." she swallowed. "That's why you started to bleed from your nose. At that point, your ladies and physicians knew it was no infection, but poison. The Lady Greer came to retrieve me from the dungeon, knowing nobody knew poison such as I." she let out a self satisfied smirk. Mary blinked slowly. "I found you bleeding and murmuring nonsense, your eyes rolled back in your head, yet the lids open. Truly, a gruesome sight."

Mary looked away nervously, not remembering it. Whilst her husband's lips parted and he turned to her, his eyes closing, feeling another wave of self hatred that he hadn't been there when his wife had needed him the most.

"James, where was he? Did he see?" Mary asked. Of course, she had seen her boy a few hours previous and he hadn't let out any indications that he had seen such a horrid sight, but she could never know for sure.

"No, child. Your son was tucked up in his chambers at this time. He doesn't even know you were poisoned, just sickened, as in what he saw before his father left."

"So, you saved her." Francis nodded. Catherine repeated the action. "How?"

"I took a blade and got some of her blood from her wrist," she nodded to the thick bandage wrapped across Mary's left forearm. "Mixed a few things into it, before a last. When it bubbled, it narrowed it down to three possible poisons. The scent of the air narrowed it to two. And Mary's response to the oil of a primrose told me what it was."

"And that was?"

"It doesn't matter, son. All that matters is that I found an antidote and your wife and child are safe."

"And it would have gone to him because I-" Mary trailed off, looking down at the baby boy who sucked greedily at her breast.

"Yes."

"Is he-"

"He is perfectly safe, perfectly healthy. Don't worry, child."

"What I don't understand," Francis ran his hands down his face, the far more comfortable leather doublet he wore making a noise with the movement. "is why." he proclaimed.

"Why?"

"Why save her, them." his head nodded towards Mary and Lucien. She nodded in response, looking from husband to mother in law.

"Yes, why?" she asked. "For many years, you have hated me. Hated me when I was a child in France, rejoiced when I was sent away to convent, hated me when I returned to French Court. Something changed when he was in Italy, but when he returned, you betray me time and time again, reveal my secrets to my enemy and start an almost war. Why save my life, that of my son's?"

"Because I love my son. And my son loves you." Catherine replied, her chin increasing in height as it always did when she was uncomfortable facing her own emotions and psyche. "You know my reasoning for my dislike of you over your life. Jealousy. Your youth, beauty, fearlessness, royal blood. Things I will never and have never had. And I will not let my son's child suffer because of my childishness, he is innocent and most of all, my son's child. You know this, I informed you when you were pregnant."

"Be that as it may, you cannot blame us for being slightly concerned with this new revelation with your past actions against us." the Medici blooded, fair haired King informed his mother.

"Yes, I understand." Catherine paused. "But I would like to start to make amends. Not just for the sake of the children, but for you. I know you wish for your wife and mother to be on the same side -your side- and I am willing to do so. It won't be a matter of you both versus me anymore. I will be on your side, always."

"These are pretty words, but we need more than words. We need actions, not just implications of change that are just that, all talk."

"Very well. How can I start?"

"You were in Spanish court, yes?" Francis asked. Catherine nodded. "You saw Phillip?"

"I did."

"You know things about him. His marriage. His rule."

"I do."

"Share them with me, with us. Prevent war at all costs. It is the least you can do, you lit the flame for conflict. It is your job to extinguish it, before innocent men and women die because of your childishness."

"I will, Francis. I swear it."

Mary inhaled deeply, letting her head fall back against the pillows. The time for being a devoted mother was coming to an end, she noticed, hearing the murmurs between mother and son as they spoke of Spain and the war. It hadn't been the first time things like this had happened. She could clearly remember the conflict between being a devoted mother and a ruler. The first time it really happened was when she returned to Scotland after her husbands' '_death_'. Of course, things with France and Stephane had never been easy, England even less so, but the issue of the long subdued John Knox had been the tipping point in joint motherhood and Queen-hood.

_"Enough!" Mary had suddenly snapped, the Scotsman who was the most irritating of thorns in her side really pushing her buttons now._

_"Never enough, my queen. I will destroy you. My followers will hear of this. And you will suffer the consequences. I will spread the word" she inhaled through her teeth. He hadn't been happy of the fact she had been looking into courtship and possible marriage to Henry Stuart, lord Darnley. And he was going to try and destroy her because of it._

_**No more, Knox. No more.**_

_Something in Mary snapped. The fire appeared behind her eyes, and the flashed forwards, grabbing Knox's collar and getting so close to his face. She was tired of trying to appease him. He was her subject. She owned him. "__**Do not **__threaten__ me." she spat. "I am a queen, not just by marriage, but by __**blood. Royal **__blood runs through my veins. People believe and know that God __**chose me **__to rule over countries and empires, choosing __**m**__e to rule how he would, whilst you just __**spout **__his teachings whenever you see fit. I am the __**Queen of England**__. I am the __**Queen of Scotland. **__I am the __**Regent of France**__. I was married to one of the most __**powerful**__ men in the world, I have his country, his power. I rule over countries, I __**made**__ an empire. __**I am **__an empire. You see those guards," she snapped his head to the guards. "They can say whatever i want them to. They will say __**whatever **__i want them to. I __**own **__them. I own __**every single **__subject of Scotland and of England and of France. They do __**whatever **__I tell them to. They will forever do whatever i tell them to. Because, __**if they don't**__, they will be __**hung, drawn and quartered**__. __**That **__is power," she spat, getting even closer, widening her eyes slightly, the lust for power overcoming her. She let it take her away. When she played a man's game in a man's world, nothing could matter more than power. "__**True**__ power. Power that a __**commoner **__like you will __**never**__ have." she spat. "And will __**never **__take away from me. You wish to rule Scotland? Take my god given country away from me? Simply because I am a woman? Let me tell you something, Scotland has only one true ruler. Me. __**Mary, Queen of Scotland**__. Crowned on my sixth day and appointed by the almighty Lord himself. It is my crown, my __**god given **__birthright and I will defend it, from __**anyone **__who tries to take it. And, if you do not agree to my terms, you will burn before the next sun rises. I promise you that." she threw him back against the wall. "You have one hour, or your head will be on a spike, sent to your sheep and whoever dares defy me." she spat, venom dripping from her words, before storming out. Knox was properly chastised, breathing heavily. One year ago, Mary was innocent and naive. Now, power hungry, cold and venomous. Poised and powerful. Imperial and strong. It was all because of them._

Her eyes opened again. She inhaled deeply, feeling Lucien's suckles start to wean now that he needed to be switched onto the other side. He wined softly as his mother unlatched him, fisting the soft material of her shift in his little hand as she lowered him onto the other side, covering up one and exposing the other.

"What is it?" Francis asked her. She looked at where he was, but found he wasn't there anymore. Instead, he and his mother were standing in the corner of the room, the height difference between the two almost comedic.

"Nothing," she sighed. "he just needs to go onto the other side." she finished.

"Ah, a hungry eater, is he?" Catherine smiled, cupping her hands against her chest. "You and your brothers were the same, Francis." she glanced at her first born son. "We didn't want to bother you, dear. You must get all the sleep possible."

_I fell asleep? _Mary asked herself, but shrugged it off. The poisoning and tonics in her system must play a part in tiredness. Plus, she hadn't recovered from the birth yet. And wouldn't until another month had passed.

The door knocked.

"Enter." Francis called, turning around.

Sebastian walked inside.

"Brother, what is it? Do you have any information on who did this?" the King asked, remembering what his mother had said to him about Sebastian's whereabouts.

"I do." he sighed. "You won't like it."

"Well, go on then. Tell us." Catherine pushed, coming over and pulling him into the room, closing the door.

"I found the crates where the candles were lit. All of them are poisoned. And I found out who is most likely responsible for this."

"Phillip." Francis answered.

"He may have a hand in this, but he is not the one who accepted the crates into the Palace."

"Well, spit it out." Catherine pushed. "Who did?"

Bash walked over towards Mary, handing her a flimsy bit of material.

"It's a crest." she said, looking at the incarnations upon the flimsy bit of dark green felt.

"It is. My wife thinks she recognises it. But she cannot be sure. Only you can be. Who's crest is it?" Sebastian asked.

Mary took several moments to look upon the crest. Her lips parted and she shook her head.

"No, it cannot be."

"It is, Mary." Sebastian looked towards the former Queen and current King of France. "This crest belongs to Lola Campbell."

"Did you know?" Greer stormed into the tower. From inside the cold, small chamber, Dame Lola stood up sharply. The fair haired Lady heard her bones crack loudly with the sudden movement, but the curly haired traitoress said nothing. "Did you know about what happened?!" she demanded.

"Greer?" Lola questioned. Her lips parted, taking in the small bump upon the Lady's abdomen. Blue eyes had flown to it the moment she came into her cell. "You're with child." Lola stated. The loyal Lady huffed in impatience.

"Yes, I am. But do not avert the question. Did you know?" she asked. "Did you know what happened to Mary?! Was it your doing?!" she cried.

"Did I know what?"

"You've been in contact with the Hapsburg's." she hissed. "And one of them, King Phillip, has just tried to assassinate our Empress and her newborn baby." she finished. Greer noticed the former Lady in waiting's eyes grow considerably. She seemed to stumble back an inch or two, holding out a hand to grasp a damp beam to keep her up steady, lips parting. Greer paused for a few moments. "It's ironic, is it not? That your calling card was left at the scene? Your seal was stamped onto the crate the candles came in." she chuckled. "Did you know? Did you try and kill Mary?" Greer demanded.

"Greer, I swear on the blood of my son that I did not." Lola begged. "I have been imprisoned for weeks. How could I have tried to kill my Queen?"

"If you're telling the truth, then you've been frames. Regardless of your guilt or innocence, you've been placed at the scene of the crime. Francis is furious with you. He wants your blood."

"I would never harm Mary! How could this have happened?"

"A poisoned candle, much like when she was a child in France." the Lady informed. "The vapours poisoned her slowly from the inside, she started showing signs not long ago. We thought she was suffering from an infection from childbirth, perhaps the afterbirth remaining inside, but we were wrong. Your fellow conspirator found it."

"How?"

"She drained a little of Mary's blood, mixed it with something, before adding a third essence. It fizzled. She was poisoned. Catherine saved her."

"I had no idea." Lola proclaimed. "Is she alright?"

"Recovering well." Greer looked down at Lola. "Francis and her sons have not left her side since the King returned in the early hours." she informed.

"I am glad." Lola answered. "Why would you think I have had anything to do with this? I've been imprisoned here for weeks."

"Are you really that stupid?" the Lady scoffed. "You have been in contact with the Hapsburg's, trying to marry your son off to Mary's enemy for months now. And now a Hapsburg King tries to assassinate his enemy, your seal attached to the crate after Mary and Francis stopped the engagement, and you want us to believe you had nothing to do with this?"

"I know how it looks, believe me, I do. But you have to believe me. I had nothing to do with this. I am no agent. I am no spy. I just wanted my child to have a safe and secure future should anything happen to his father. That's why I tried to have the engagement. Not to betray my Queen further, but to secure his future. I was -am- desperate."

"Through your further betrayals towards Mary." Greer informed. "She has given you every chance, and time and again, you betray her. Is it that hard to follow Kenna and I's lead? To be loyal? Is it?" the Lady asked. "In France, you blamed her for her almost rape, your little boyfriend's 'assassination'." she made air quotes. "Then you try to have a relationship with Sebastian under the Queen's nose, knowing her feelings for him. And then you sleep with Francis, conceive his bastard child, try to justify it and force her to keep your secret, then you lure him out to Italy for over two years, making everybody think he was dead! Because of you, James didn't know his father for years! And now, and now," she spat. "Your calling card is left at the scene of the crime and you want us to believe you had nothing to do with this?! Paint it however you want, but that is what happened! Every single time, you betray her! Each time, that blade comes closer to your neck. We're not sure how much longer she can keep the axe from you."

"I didn't try and kill her! What reason would I have?!" Lola cried out, throwing her hands up in the air.

"Jealousy of her crown? Envy of her children's legitimacy? Hatred over the fact Francis loved Mary and not you?" Greer listed off, her dark eyes narrow slits at the woman who she had once considered a sister. But not anymore. Not after what she had done.

"I don't want Francis!" Lola cried. "I never have and I never will! What happened between us was a pitiful night after we both lost so much! A moment of comfort! I was wracked with guilt the moment it was over! Nobody was ever supposed to find out!"

"You lied terribly that day and I don't believe you anyway." Greer spat. It was true. Lola lied terribly the afternoon she returned with Francis, how could she think she could keep it a secret for the rest of her life? Foolish little girl.

"You should! I regret that every single moment of the day! You think I wouldn't give anything so that my son would have been Julian's, Mary and Francis happy and the last years of turmoil would not have happened?! You think I don't regret my choice, it was the worst mistake of my life!" Lola cried out again, fisting her hair in frustration and upset anger.

"And yet you don't try and make up for it. You try and make it worse by betraying the one person who has protected you through everything!" Greer snapped back. "Mary is the one person who keeps you from the scaffold, yet you give her reason to push you towards it? What is wrong with you?!"

"I didn't mean to! I was desperate! In the plague, I didn't want to die, nor my child to die. That's why I called for Mary, that's why asked her to tell Francis! I didn't mean to end up in Italy, it just happened!"

"Things like that do not just happen!"

"It did! Francis and John and I just ran so far. We ran until the plague stopped following us, but we ended up in Italy. We needed time, money and food to get back. We couldn't find anybody who knew or cared who we were, no Medici's that cared of my son's and Francis' blood connection to them. All we could do was save money to get back to French court. And by that time, times had changed."

"It does not take two and a half years to get back to northern France from mid Italy. You played house and family."

"No! It just took that long because we needed to feed ourselves and clothe the baby, you're a mother. You know how expensive it is to raise a baby, even on a Lady's pay!" Lola exclaimed, her heart thumping from underneath her rib cage, tears filling her eyes.

"Be that as it may, you have betrayed Mary time and time again. Nothing you can do or say will change that. But with this? I don't see how you are ever going to get back from this. Even if you didn't do it. Even if you are just framed for this crime, you will need to convince Francis of this. Not me. But God help you from his wrath when he comes for you."

They stopped their fighting for a few moments. Greer turned away from the traitoress and the aforementioned traitoress breathed her shuddered cries, sniffling as she inhaled, shaky breaths leaving her mouth as tears slipped down her cheeks.

"What happens, now, Greer?" Lola asked.

Greer chuckled. "Now? Francis wants to rip your head off for your involvement in the plot to kill the one he loves the most."

"I am innocent, Greer." she proclaimed.

"If you are, those you tried to help have back stabbed you, framed you for their crime and it is you who will go down for it, including the King of Spain who hates our Empress. You may be innocent, but you will be implicated." she nodded. "Doesn't feel nice, does it? Being betrayed? Doing everything you can to help somebody, only to have it thrown back into your face." she hissed, not looking at her.

"To my son. What happens to my John?"

"Francis will care for him. He has nannies for him. He is well looked after. The King wishes to establish a bond between his sons, so James will protect him when their father dies. But, it is up to the Dauphin if he permits it. If he holds your son accountable for your mistakes, your son will live in purgatory for the rest of his days."

"It has to change."

"What are you going to do? Force a three year old to wish to know his bastard half brother, the very same one who has caused him immeasurable amounts of pain, the one who has hurt the one that boy loves the most? No, you can't pull that card again. This is their decision. It is their lives, you won't force this."

"I want my son safe, Greer."

"As I do my own, but you cannot force the Dauphin, the one who will always come above your bastard child, to wish the same. The Prince may want to love him, but your child's uncontrollable anger and jealousy is making it very easy for James to hate him." Greer shook her head. "You may want him to be like Sebastian, but the reality is that this will never happen. They are too different. And Bash always understood that Francis wasn't to blame for his conception, his legitimacy and his crown. John does not. Even after Francis and Sebastian tried to talk him out of his anger towards your son, the boy still resents him. Just look at the way your son looks at Mary's, with such anger and jealousy in his eyes. God knows how he is going to react if he ever sees the newborn Prince face to face." the Lady Castleroy said, finally turning to face Lola.

"I hear the Prince loves your son."

"He does." Greer nodded. "My son treats him kindly and with respect, his mother does not cause problems within his parents' marriage. I am loyal to my Queen and King, my Emperor and Empress. But what are you? It is because of the way you act that causes your son to act the way he does. It is a domino effect. Your son treats the future King and Emperor with such distain that he will regret it in the future. I promise you that. But of course, you are locked up in this cell, you cannot do anything about your child's actions. Only his father and himself can. But it seems the child has no interest in his future. He is set in his way and thinks his father will always be here to protect him. But the fact of the matter is, it is not true. Who knew that those two years in Italy and those months in France would shape the boy into who he is now and who he will be as he grows."

Lola said nothing.

"It's incredible, really. You betray her time and time again, cause your son to do the same to his half brother, yet you wonder why the future is not sunshine and rainbows, just as you always have, Lola." Greer shook her head. "But I warn you again, beware of Francis' anger towards you. As it just may cause you to loose your life."


	34. Chapter 34

"Francis, please, you must calm down!" Catherine begged as she ran to keep up with her incensed eldest son. His jaw was locked tight, eyes red and crazed with fury.

"How can I, mother?!" he spat. "The mother of my bastard tried to kill my wife!" he roughly jerked his black velvet covered arm from his mothers' grasp, seething in rage as he marched right up to the tower's door. Catherine rose her skirts in an attempt to catch up to her son, but Francis was having none of it.

"How could you do this?!" Emperor Francis de Valois-Angoulême roared as he shoved open the doors to the tower's cell and headed straight for it's occupant, his strides long and frequent, eyes wide and crazed like never before, an anger surged in his veins, brighter than any Barth and deeper than any ocean. He moved like a raged bull, gripping the traitorette by under her jaw and slamming her roughly against the wet stone walls. Lola squeaked in alarm, her own teal orbs expanding as she looked at the enraged Emperor's who looked about ready to snap her neck. Francis seethed, hissing in through his teeth, his jaw locked tight as the grip underneath her jaw increased and increased. It was sure to bruise. But Francis didn't give a damn.

Catherine gasped at the roughness her son showed. Her calm, patient, understanding son now treated the woman who had birthed him his first son with the roughest touch, far from the gentle caress he had treated his wife to just mere minutes ago.

"Francis! Francis, please let me-"

"No!" the enraged King roared into her face, saliva spraying from his lips in the most beastly way. "Do not interrupt me! Do not care try and justify it with another excuse!" he screamed. "You tried to kill my wife, your Queen! How dare you! After everything she did for you!" he roared, his eyes crazed with rage, the hand gripping his whore's jaw trembling as it tightened further. "After everything we've done for you, this is how you repay?!" he roared.

"No, no!" Lola cried, tears slipping down her face, moistening his hand. "It's not like that, Francis! Please believe me, I would never harm Mary!" Her hands reached for Francis' torso, trying to push him away, assisting Catherine's fruitless attempts to loosen his grip on Lola, but it was equally as fruitless.

He laughed harshly, jerking her back and forth. "Do you honestly think I am that stupid?!" he bellowed. "Do not lie to me!" he got even closer to her. Lola gasped in pain and tears, the hand grasping her jaw tightening so much that it felt like it would snap in half.

"I'm not, I swear it!" Lola screamed as he jerked her back and forth again. The little traitorette was completley at the violent Emperor's mercy and they both knew it. "I didn't do anything!" she cried through the tears.

"Do not lie to me, Lola!" Francis roared. "The crater with poisoned candles in it has your seal! Who else could it have been?!" he screamed, the other hand gripping a large fist of her hair and jerking it back roughly. "What is this?! You try to remove Mary from my side, hope that I will then marry you and legitimise John as my heir?! Is that what this is? A way to try and use our child to consolidate your own power?!"

"No, no! I-"

"Francis, please, let her go! We can solve this some other way!" the Medici blooded Queen Mother of France begged, but the King of France shook his mother from his arm and continued to berate.

"You tried to kill Mary and Lucien! You tried to assassinate my wife and my son!" he screamed.

"No, no! Francis, please!" Lola cried out. "You're hurting me!"

"I don't care! You deserve it! You deserve everything you put my wife through!" he bellowed, jerking her back and forth roughly, the back of her head smacking against the stone again and again. Lola sobbed in pain and fear.

"Francis, please! Stop! This isn't you!" Catherine begged, but neither parent to John Phillip Valois-Angoulême seemed to hear her. She went back to trying to pull Francis from the mother of his bastard, but it was sill fruitless.

"No, it wasn't me! I was framed, I swear it! I swear it on the blood of our son!" she screamed.

"You use our child as a bargaining chip, again?!" he screamed. "Never again, harlot! We captured one of Phillip's men. He confessed to everything, the two of you conspiring to kill the Empress and the Prince!"

"No, he's lying! I've done nothing! I've been locked up in here for weeks! I've had no contact with the outside world! Apart from the maid asking for me for our son, I've heard from nobody! Please, you have to believe me!" Lola begged helplessly, trying to push him off of her, but even with her pushes and Catherine's pulls, Francis moved not an inch.

"I believe not a word that comes from your traitoress mouth!" Francis got close, their noses almost touching as Francis screamed in rage. Catherine gasped at this radical change, trying desperately to loosen Francis' grip, but again, it was fruitless. "We've protected you from yourself, we've fed and housed you and our child, gave him a Prince's education and childhood, give you a husband and a house, protection for you both, and you do this?! Mary protected your secret from me, and you repay her by trying to kill her?! Is that what Phillip asked of you? That he'd reinstate the engagement between our son and a Hapsburg daughter if you removed his enemy and her heir?!"

"I am no spy, Francis! I talked to the Hapsburg's in an attempt to secure John's future and lessen the ice between them and Mary!"

"That is not your decision to make!" he bellowed into her face. "It is mine and Mary's! We're the ones with power! Not you! All you ever will be is a ruined, exposed traitoress who will forever live off your ruler and son's hospitalises! That is all you will ever be! You are a woman, a ruined one at that! You have no power in this world, nor will you ever have any of it!" he yelled. He pushed Catherine a few feet away from him, and this time, she stayed away.

"No, I-"

"Not a word!" he yelled. "If my mother didn't find out which poison was used, Mary would be dead! If I hadn't taken my child away from his mother, he would be dead! Do you have any idea what you did?! You've already convinced the world one of your rulers is dead, did you have to try and make it another?!

"I did nothing! I did nothing!"

"I should have let Mary take your head years ago." he spat. Lola inhaled a shaky breath, tears slipping down her cheeks, falling into her mouth and upon Francis' hand that jerked her head up further and further, exposing her neck and throat.

"Francis, please! I would never harm Mary or your son!" Lola screamed. "I was framed! You must believe me!"

"Speak again and I will cut out your heart!" he screamed. He pulled back from the mother of his bastard, looking down at her as if she repulsed his very being. The hand on her jaw moved and flung high behind him, and Catherine grabbed it before he could strike Lola with the back of it.

"No, Francis! Please, this is not you! Snapping her neck or striking her as if she is some common dog will not bring justice! When this is all over, we can put her on trial, you mustn't do it like this!" Catherine begged. Francis seemed to respond to that. He lowered his hand, but got close once more.

"Even if you didn't try to kill them, you will forever be implicated in this latest threat against my wife." he spat. "And you will loose your head, alone in this tower, before the day is done." he hissed.

"Good lord." Mary chuckled as Greer finished her tale. They sat at the small table just behind the doors to the balcony. The slowly recovering, widowed Lady Castleroy had just finished telling the tale of Francis confronting Lola about her role in the attempted assassination. She had been informed of the events by Catherine, getting the dirty little details from Steven and listening in to the conversation between Francis and Sebastian that afternoon. "Well, it says something of the severity of your crimes if you have Catherine de Medici pleading your case, being the voice of reason." Mary chuckled, sipping her tea that the physician had brewed for her. Greer smirked at her friend, sipping from a different cup of maternity tea that the very same physician had been brewing for all three noble ladies as they grew with child.

"Indeed it does." she blew on the hot, steaming liquid in her cup. Subconsciously, she placed a hand upon the small bump that lay underneath the grey satin of her gown.

"How far along are you?" Mary asked, enjoying the fact that Greer no longer considered the babe within her a curse, but a blessing, the final tie between she and her deceased husband.

"Not very far at all, only a couple months." the fair haired Lady in waiting answered her friend and ruler. "How are you feeling? Having only given birth a few weeks ago."

"Better than last time." Mary answered. "But of course, not completley healed." she answered, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, stealing a glance at the fair haired baby laying in the crib beside her. He looked like a shapeless lump in all the blankets the nannies had wrapped him up in, but it looked adorable all the same. She reached inside the grip, stroking a golden lock back from his forehead.

"He's such a sweet boy," Greer noted.

"He is," the new mother smiled down at her new baby, completley sure that before long, this little boy would be graced with younger brothers and sisters.

"He doesn't look like James much." the Lady Castleroy replied.

"Not in the hair, but the face definatley." Mary ran her fingers down her sleeping newborn's cheek. From deep in his slumber, Lucien gave his mother a gummy smile. She beamed down at him. "I love you." she whispered to the baby. She turned back around slowly, looking at Greer. "How's Kenna?"

"Forbidden to leave the bed, from both Bash and the midwives." the dark eyed, long blonde haired woman answered with a small smile. "The babe seems to be lowering, so it should be any day now."

"She and Bash deserve this baby, after the hell that Francis and I put them through."

"They chose to be loyal to their respective rulers. It can't be helped that Henry forced them to be wed." she shrugged a shoulder, draining her tea before filing it from her individual teapot. Mary wrinkled her nose.

"How can you enjoy that? It was the bane of my pregnancies." the Empress glared at the dark liquid falling from her friends' teapot. She had always hated pregnancy tea. It tasted vile to her, but for some reason, her lady loved it.

"I crave it." she shrugged, adding "You know how I feel about all that veal and venison you ate in France and here." Greer shot back. Mary chuckled.

"Point taken." she answered. "Is George still holding his grudge towards you?"

"He has my stubbornness, that's for sure," she huffed. "James isn't the only one that John irritated. It's going to take a long time to regain George's favour, let alone your sons." they shared a look, knowing full well the stubbornness James held, especially when somebody had done something wrong to he or any he loved. Sensitivity, protectiveness and stubbornness didn't make the best mix. "He's with him now."

Mary whistled, knowing full well the mistrust between all the children towards Francis' eldest. After a couple displays of anger towards them, they usually steered clear of the illegitimate boy, almost like the plague he had been born into. And that didn't quite help the boy's anger towards them all, even her little nephew who held Francis' moniker, simply because the adorable little boy had favour and John did not.

"I'm having the cooks bake some chireseye for him to try and make up for it." Greer continued. "I can't believe I have to bribe my son to play ball with another child."

Mary chuckled. "It sounds ridiculous, but it is what we have to do to at least try and make them get on. It will make things easier for everybody if you can get on as a cohesive unit.

"Is this about the war?"

"It is." Mary sighed, flicking a couple locks of hair out of her face. "When Francis and I are in battle, you and the children and all the politically important people will be moved up to the northern highlands to be kept safe. It'll make life easier for everybody if they could get on. Not exactly be friends, I don't know if that's ever going to happen. But find mutual understanding and tolerate. That's the most we can hope for."

They walk through the hallways of the French Court, confident and stature, demure and superior as they looked upon the people under their care. Everybody stops and stares at the quartet as they make their way through them stone walls. Nobody murmurs for a good few moments, taking the time to absorb their King and Queen's beauty and superiority.

Donned in golden silk and ivory satin, pearls adorning every possible inch in delicate embellishments, the King and Queen walked in front of their people and their court. Their shoulders were back, their chins rose, eyes set. Not a hair was out of place, not a jewel nor a pearl. They were dressed to the nines, in complete unison, dressed to match.

She was on his arm, confidently walking through the sea of courtiers in France for the first time in years. Eyes set and sparkling and golden, she walked with a demure smile, a far surer beauty than the French Court remembered. It didn't take a simple mind to know that the Queen's beauty would only grow as she matured.

_Good __**God**_, Court whispers as the King and Queen of France walked slowly through it. _Is the King hard of sight? _They ask amongst themselves_. His mistress looks like __**that**__ and his wife looks like __**that**__?_ They ask, noticing the obvious differences in looks between the Queen of France and the rumoured maîtresse-en-titre whom trailed in the simplest cloths behind them, her hands bound at the womb, eyes cast to the sparkling stone flooring of the French throne room.

_Look at the Princes, _others whisper as the enchanting King and Queen walked past them_. I spy the Valois grace_. They say_. How wonderful the Dauphin looks, how healthy the Prince_. Ladies observe, looking at the dark haired Dauphin -who was being held securely, resting upon the King's hip- and the golden haired baby whom lay sleeping in the Queen's arms, the most perfect picture of contentment.

The Queen mother smiled wide at the back of her son, her face beaming with pride, dark golden caped gown trailing behind her as she walked slowly in her sons procession. Her hands clasped around her chest and heart as she smiled wide at them. Of course, she was displeased to walk behind the newly unwed Flemming female and her own bastard child, but so long as she was trusted by her son and his wife for the time being, she would put up with the neusence of Lola for now.

Behind her, the Baron de Portiers, along with the Baroness. Young Lady Meredith clung to her father's loose black leather doublet, red and purple floral dress hanging loosely over her slumbering frame, covered almost completley by a fur cape. The Baroness looked completley exhausted in her travels on her husband's side. A fur held her newborn baby. She little clump whimpered in small mewls, the mother rubbing small circles upon her baby's back.

Before an avalanche of guards, the Duke Bayard and Lady Castleroy lingered together, walking a few inches apart. The Lady held one hand of her children in each one of hers, not looking at the young man she had been so very fond of not that long ago. Things had ended badly with them when the Dauphin was unborn, the slight awkwardness melted just after Princess Claude died. Her only daughter held her father close, copper curls poking out of her pink cape, settled in his arms. But still, the comfortableness between the duo hadn't completley gone away after all this time.

The King lead the Queen up the stairs, their eight week old young colt not making a sound as he slept, and sat her gently upon her great, golden throne. The Dauphin settled at his mother's feet, smiling wide up at his father as he moved towards his larger throne, settling himself and watching with glee as his nobility and staff bowed before him in unison, cloths rustling and and heels clipping as their owners dove and rose in slow succession.

"My loyal subjects," Francis began, his great voice booming and dripping in Kingly pride. "it gives me great pleasure to see you all here tonight, to celebrate the safe return of your Queen, Dauphin and I, and to welcome your new Prince to his country, Prince Lucian Robert Francois of France and the United Kingdom of Great Britain." Francis paused. "We must celebrate these joyous occasions with apt attention, so there will be a ball in honour of my son and my families' safe return from my wife's country." he finished. Court bowed, murmuring 'Long live the King' as the aforementioned King and Master waved a hand, telling them all to leave him to his privy council.

"My sisters," Francis said, noticing his entourage had not yet left him. Kenna took three steps towards her Emperor. Leaving her children sitting on the floor, the pregnant Lady Castleroy came close too, wrapping her arms around herself, the bump extenuating itself upon her abdomen. "Why don't you take my nieces and nephews away to the nursery, as well as my sons. They must be exhausted from our travels, as you must be, sister," Francis nodded to Kenna. She bowed quietly -how unlike her- holding her two week old baby closer to her. Quietly, the two Ladies in Waiting gathered all the children and made out of the throne room.

"To the dungeon with her." Francis hissed to his brother, nodding at Lola. As much as he wished for her head to be a pretty new castle decoration, his mother was right. She had information upon their enemy. They needed her as long as they needed it.

"Your Majesty," the grand lord Chancellor of France said first, stopping at the staircase, appearing quite proud of himself in his red leather doublet. Francis nodded at the dangerously ambitious yet fiercely proud Frenchman.

"Chancellor." Francis nodded. He watched Mary tense near him, remembering the things she had told him of her previous puppeteer turned current puppet. He reached for her hand, silently informing her of his loyalty and devotion to her. He wouldn't let Narcisse harm her or put James in danger again.

"Majesty," he answered. "Your sister, the Queen Elisabeth Valois-Angulème of Spain, Princess of France, wishes to speak with you."

Francis looked up as a young brunette emerged from the shadows. A pale yellow gown with pink floral design cloaked her, a silver tiara standing tall upon her head. Hazel eyes sparkled in what looked to be nerves and happiness as she looked upon her eldest brother and King.

"My brother." Elisabeth smiled softly.

"Elisabeth." Francis got up from his throne and came over to his eldest sister. "I'm glad you're alright." he embraced his little sister. Elisabeth clung to her brother tightly.

"I'm truly sorry about what my husband has done, Francis. Truly." she quietly said.

"I know, sister. I know. You'll help us defeat him, yes? And I'll protect you and any child you bare?"

"Thank you, brother. Thank you."

"Look at you now." Mary chuckled, strolling into the dungeon's cell, looking at little Lola as she sat in nothing but a white chemise, a raggedy woven blanket and little else, no jewlery and no embellishments, raggedy hair and no shoes. "After all we've been through, all we've lost." Mary paused. "Look at us now. I am where I am. And you are where you are." she finished, not walking down the stairs to the cell's floor that was lightly decorated with straw. She looked down at Lola, literally and figuratively.

"I had nothing to do with King Phillip's plot against you. You know this. I have spoken of it half a dozen times."

"It matters not." Mary replied. "Your calling card was found at the scene. Even if you were framed, you were involved and you will be implicated."

"You swore to be justical when you courted Francis. What about now? You're going to let me die because it saves trouble?"

"Justice has no place in this world. And my primary focus is on an international war that may turn into a worldwide international affair based on nothing but ignorant fallacy upon religion." the Empress answered calmly. "Now that I am back on my feet, I have had information from my husband. You were in contact with Spain and the Hapsburgs to engage John to my enemy."

"I did."

"Why?"

"To secure my son's future."

"That is Francis and I's decision, not yours. You are nothing now. Not wed, I was forced to annual your union that would have protected you because of your foolishness, to protect my loyal subject from yourself. Think not that this is you getting your way, since you never wished for this union. There will be another. You will be sold like a brood mare again. And if you ruin it again, there will be another." Mary started walking down the stairs, her body turned from her former Lady but faced her. "And another. And another. And another." she repeated. "But I'm uncaring if we have had your son's engagement conversation before. He will wed a nobles bastard with the highest dowry. But this is the thing I actually want to know." she leaned down to Lola's level. "You were in contact with Phillip. That's how Catherine found him. You opened the door for this."

"Y-yes."

Their nosed touched.

"You knew my castle -this very castle- was going to be attacked by the Spainish. You knew. You knew and you said_ nothing. You did nothing." _Mary hissed, gripping her jaw. "Not only do you attempt to ruin my marriage, you try and ruin my rule again. And you still claim to be loyal? How foolish can a person be?" the Empress threw the whore away as of she was a speck of dirt. She turned away from the former Flemming Lady.

"I can give you information, help you win the war. Bring down Phillip and get whatever you want." Lola panted from the floor.

"Oh, you will." she chuckled, not looking at her. "And so much more. That's why I and Catherine prevented Francis from drawing his sword and taking your head in England." she closed her eyes for a few moments.

_"Come back to me." Mary whispered, cupping his trembling cheeks and resting their noses and foreheads together, slowly calming him down._

"It was not for you, not even for your son. Francis is more than content to allow your child to grow up without a mother. Your head is on your shoulders for the countries. And it will be until it is no longer needed. But when this war is over, you will be brought to justice for all of your crimes against both me and my countries. I promise you that."

"Mother," Francis noted as he came into the nursery for his youngest son. Sitting in an overstuffed rocker, holding the baby, was Catherine de Medici in the post-dinner simplicity that she usually wore.

A red satin slip and a thick, fur lined robe combined with crimson velvet slippers and undone hair, a bare face and a lack of usually overdone jewellery to prove her status in France, and to compensate for the lack of royal blood because of her Italian nobility bloodline. Francis gripped the wood of the door, warm from the burning harth of the nursery, looking over this scene that he hadn't ever seen before. His mother looked really quite young without the makeup and hair, jewellery and finery.

Because of the obvious similarities between he and the baby, it could be thought that Francis had gone back in time to see his mother holding himself when he was just born, when Henry had been ecstatic over the birth of his first legitimate child -a son, at that, King Francois I had noted multiple times- so much so that he had temporarily cut off Diane de Portiers and ignored the three year old Sebastian for a few weeks.

"What are you doing here?" The King of France asked, looking somewhat simpler himself, without the heavy crown he had been sporting for the past nine days they had been in the French Court, no fine robes or exquisite materials. A simple combination of black leather boots, trousers and doublet that hadn't been properly seen since his Dauphin days moved stealthily with it's master, stopping it's slight rustles as he ceased his purposeful steps.

"I just wanted to see this sweet boy, my love." Catherine answered. "I haven't properly greeted him." she finished. It was true. The first time Catherine had set eyes on young Lucien was when she was treating his mother for her poison-laced candle assassination attempt. But even that wasn't a loving meeting between grandson and grandmother, like she'd had with young James all those years ago, which really wasn't long at all. Not even four years, to be precise. It had been a quick greeting with a weary hold -Mary still didn't trust Catherine, less of all when the known poisoner was giving her tonics to drink, yet knew she had to repay the debt somehow- before the child was returned to his mother for a feed after the poison had been flushed from them both. With the travelling from England to France on separate ships, the Medici matriarch still hadn't set eyes on the baby. And with the nine days of being in France, all of the adults' time had been taken up by wrestling power from Narciesse and general politics, with the horrid reality of the impending war between the Catholic Empress and the Spanish Catholic King.

"Very well." Francis came into the room, closing the door quietly, coming over to his mother and his son. The baby was awake, staring up at Catherine with apt wonder, content and quiet as always, wrapped up in blankets. "Is he alright?"

"Yes, he's very well." the Queen Mother of France replied. "After feeding not twenty minutes ago, the nannies have changed his clothes and put him to bed. I couldn't resist holding him."

"So long as he is not uncomfortable." Francis moved from the back of the rocking chair and towards another seat not too far from the duo.

"He's alright." Catherine replied quietly. "He looks just like James when he was born." she said, after several minutes of comfortable, yet still uncomfortable, silence, the only sound being their breathing and the crackles of the harth.

"Does he?" Francis may have seen paintings of the newborn Dauphin-technical King- of France, but because of his Italian escapade, he hadn't ever set eyes on him, something he still hated himself for.

"He does. He has the same face, minor differences in them both." Catherine noted, ever the maternal figure. "But his hair-" she smiled over at her son, holding his own son, one hand pushing back the blanket covering his head and pulling out a long strand of blonde hair, already starting to curl.

"Yes, it's good to have some resemblance. James is all Mary." Francis chuckled a little, still finding it hard to believe their circumstances.

"He's a blend of you both." she reminded him. "I do wonder who he will be." she looked down at the baby as he made a small, kittenish noise. "Who he will become in this life."

"We'll know soon enough." he said offhandedly.

"Goodness, this is rather awkward, isn't it?" Catherine said. Francis looked over at his mother, his strong, chiselled jawline never more apparent. From this vantage point, the similarities between Catherine and her eldest son could be seen. The same curls and eye shape, skin tone, light hair and eyes that were anything but dark like the rest of the Valois clan. The King of France took more after his mother than his father -which was odd because he and Bash both had light eyes yet their father had the darkest black- yet his aura was all Valois-Angoulême, that essence of power and intelligence was all his father and the French Kings before them both.

"Yes, it is." Francis said, after a long feat of quietness.

"I know you do not trust me." Catherine began. "But you must know my reasoning's for doing what I did to you and Mary."

"I do not." he answered, using that same tone he used whenever he spoke to his long dead father.

"I thought I lost you, Francis." she sighed. "For years, I thought you were dead, gone to me forever. You cannot imagine a mother's grief when she buries her child-" she paused, remembering that period of time where Mary was heavily pregnant and on the battlefield, when she thought she could loose the baby in addition to Francis and her estranged daughter who had been murdered by Sebastian as a way to protect Mary and the unborn baby. And keeping in mind her dead children who never made it to adulthood, Catherine finally noted that she had been though far too much in her lifetime. "and I thought I had experienced that pain again. But worse, you-" she looked into Francis' eyes. "my favourite child, my saviour from the block. My golden child, my entire world." she looked away, never the best at feeling her own feelings. "I thought you were dead, that pain was so much worse than when I buried Louis, Emmone and Henriette. You, a man, a King, your precious life over, I hope you'll never know that agony." she sighed. "But when I got you back, when you walked into my chambers that night, my world froze. You were finally returned to me, still in the land that the living walk upon. I wanted nothing more than for you to have all you wanted again. That's why I stood by your side -not Mary's and James'- during the claiming John issue. You wanted your child to be claimed with lands and titles, and although it wasn't the best decision -both personally and politically- I supported you."

"You did more than that." Francis murmured, looking away. "You betrayed James and his mother, the people who'm you supposedly stood behind like no other when I was gone. You knew Mary's struggle and the importance of James, personally and politically, yet you betray them."

"I never wanted them to suffer, Francis. You know that. You know I love Mary like one of my own girls. And I adore James, but he would have always had her, he always did when you were in my homeland. He would always have his mother and his mother's countries. He would have still been safe, that's why I told you to claim him. He wasn't your only chance to be a father, but he was the son you knew and raised. Even though John doesn't have Mary's blood, he -at that point, at least- was the one loved the most. Not because of anything Mary or James had done, simple because you knew of his existence and ruined everything you had ever had so he could have his life."

"It was the wrong decision, mother." Francis interjected. "I never should have claimed John."

"You say that now, but you thought it the right decision at the time."

"I shouldn't have done it. I acted like my father and for that I have no excuse. I could have ruined my marriage, put my son and my wife in danger. John and James are at odds now, if I didn't do what I did, maybe that wouldn't have happened. Maybe if I acted like father in that circumstance, they would act like Sebastian and I."

"Maybe they would, but we cannot change things now." she tried to soothe.

"I am the King. I can change things." was the quick response.

"A man who says he is the King is no true King at all." Catherine said, her words cryptic and chilling. So much so that Francis looked sharply towards his mother and replied swiftly, his eyebrows high up upon his head and knitted together.

"Where did that come from?" he asked, that odd expression upon his handsome face not wavering in the slightest.

"Your father said it to himself the night he became Dauphin. He lived by those words." she nodded to herself.

"And died by them." Catherine's son added.

"Yes." Catherine sighed. "He did." she paused. "I didn't do what I did to manipulate you, you've always known I have wanted the best for you. I would drip almost anybody's blood to keep you safe and protected upon your throne. But I always told you when your father was alive that I would stand by you, and I have, to the best of my abilities. If I protected you before you took the throne, I would hope you would protect me as you sat upon it."

"As we all realised the night father decided to start the process of Sebastian's legitimisation." he sighed, wishing to forget that horrid day.

"Yes," she stated.

"If you love me so much, why try and dissolve my throne with my sisters' husband?" he asked. "You started this ball rolling with Phillip. I know you try and make it right by helping us stop or win the war. But you started this. You went to Spain and told Phillip our secrets. You started the coup upon this very castle. Yet you claim to love me? Why did you do that?"

"Jealousy, Francis. Simple jealousy." Catherine answered. "I was jealous that Mary turned your mind from my advise and to hers. I had done everything you wanted and you turned your back to me and looked to her. I was jealous of all she has ever had. I am jealous of everything she'd ever had. Royal blood, youth and beauty, countries under her blood written rule, an empire at her feet and another country at her usage upon her marriage. The lack of time it took to create an heir, the lack of time to create another Prince." Catherine looked down at Lucien again. "It is no excuse-"

"No, mother. It is not. I and Mary appreciate the assistance with the battle and the politics, but it is still not enough."

"I know. Francis, I know. I want to make it right. Elisabeth and I have told you everything we know. So has Lola, she may know more, but she steadily feeds information. The nobles seem satisfied, knowing Spain's strength's and weaknesses, but-"

"It will take time for Mary and James to turn to you again. You know that?"

"I do." Catherine answered. "I hope with this baby," she looked at Lucien again, now that he had fallen asleep in her arms. "I have an opportunity to make things right."

"Give them time and assist them in whatever they need. You'll have an opportunity with James when everybody we care about is shipped up to the top of Scotland, should we not prevent the war." Francis replied.

"I hope so."

"You speak of Lola." the young King added. "Why did you send her to Scotland and England when I warned you to keep her in her rooms with her son? You knew Sebastian and I were going there to start winning them over but-" he trailed off.

"All I have ever seen are King's with mistresses. Your grandfather had one, you know of your father and Diane." Catherine glared at the mention of the long dead mistresses' name. "I was under the impression that that was normal. To love your mistress and your bastards and think of your wife nothing but a stud horse for an heir. But looking at you and Mary, I now understand that that is not how it has to go."

"You told me to try and love her when I was a child. She didn't have your favour then, yet you said so when I treated her coldly after she came to France as a child." he noted.

"I did, but I wanted you to be different, then. My jealousy clouded me now. I thought you could find love with Lola (Quick A/N: It's your girl here, I just have to say I really hate writing stuff like that. Just eww) and be content with her and John, how you had managed to be in Italy. I know now that it is not true, had it hammered home when you gave your consent for Lola to be married to a sir."

"It's been annulled now, mother. Her treason has made it impossible to keep the marriage valid without destroying loyal Killian's reputation." he huffed. "I don't like how you went about everything, but I suppose I understand. Just do try and not ruin my marriage anymore and I will help you rebuild Mary and James' trust in you." he half smiled.

"I will try." Catherine chuckled.

A knock at the door interrupted the mother-son moment.

"Enter!" Francis called, trying not to wake the sleeping baby in his mothers' arms.

Steven came in. "Excuse me, uncle. But my aunt wishes to see you with the privy council."

"Of course."

"You propose what?!" Catherine shrieked at her son as she took him by the arm from the council chambers and to another room where they could have their privacy.

"I proposed a marriage between King Antoine's son and heir, Prince Henry, and my sister, Margot." Francis answered calmly.

"Good lord." Catherine fell back towards a nearby settee. "Are you mad? Henry is protestant, you know how his father treated Sebastian's wife Kenna in the past, you know how your cousin acts! And you wish to pollute Valois-Angoulême blood with that of Bourbon?"

"My wife is related to the Bourbon's through the de Guise, mother." Francis answered calmly. "Your grandsons hold some of their blood." he paused. "And you cannot judge a son on the actions of the father. I would have no hope of surviving in this world if I was judged upon father's mistakes. Henry is only a few years older than Margot, my sons are distantly related to them. They are children, they are harmless."

"Not all of them." Catherine huffed.

"All that matter in this world." he amended with a glare. It sounded harsh as he did love his son Jean, but the fact would always remain that Jean was lower than a common speck of dirt in this world.

"No, Francis! I won't allow it! She's my daughter!"

"She is. But she is also my sister and I am her King, as well as yours." he answered. "If we give Antoine this marriage, Navarre becomes ours in any heir they may have in the future and the ice that has been within the two families' since Mary forced their hand to sign away their birthright to my throne."

"It was a brilliant move," Catherine muttered.

"It was. But we need common ground to try and stop this war between Spain and the Empire. France is caught in the crossfire and we need a common strip of ground for negotiations to begin." he answered. "Now, come on. We have business to attend to." Francis grabbed his mothers arm in the way she grabbed his earlier and drug her back to the privy council and Mary.

"Do we have the Queen Mother's permission for negotiations to begin?" a lord asked.

"I don't like it, but very well. Princess Margot will marry Prince Henry."

"And we will be able to send word to Navarre and Spain that we may meet in this land to begin negotiations of peace, not war." Francis answered.

"Then it's decided." Mary finalised. "I have to go to the level grounds and meet King Phillip myself." she finished, her voice dripping with regal authority, every inch an Empress.

The snow crunched against the hundreds of cantering hooves. Metal clinked against one another and clothing rustled in motion. Belts clanked together and horses whinnied loudly as they ran through the feet of snow that blanketed the Navarrian field. The beat of the moving hooves echoed loudly, in a chaotic unison as the King and Queen of France made their way to the meeting point with the King of Spain.

Mary grit her teeth as the edge of the hill came to view. She looked over it longingly, finding no Spanish procession. She could find nothing of the sort that she was looking for. No irritating King, no hundreds of guards and mercenaries. Nothing but the pristine and imperfection-less, snow covered ground of Navarre.

She slowed her horse, settling to a stop as she waited for her enemy to arrive before her. Her horse, a white haired, blonde maned, blue eyed stallion was cloaked to the nines in an intricately woven, dark blue blanket with light blue fleur-de-lis' all over it. A childhood pet gifted to her by her father when he was upon his deathbed and heard of Queen Marie's successful childbirth to a premature girl. Askari -meaning noble warrior- had been a newborn foal at the time, and had proudly served his mistress as they grew up together. He had ridden with her in battle, and he was going to stand by her side and deliver her to her fate. He always had been there.

"Stop." Mary ordered. From beside her, Francis stopped on his raven haired, maned and eyed stallion, stopping beside his wife. He looked at her intently, donned in the finery of a King, yet protected by armour, no crown upon his head.

From behind them, the fifty seven guards stopped in quick succession, the more important members of their family coming to their side. James, Earl of Moray, at his sisters right, Baron Sebastian de Portiers' to his brothers' left.

They waited in silence for several minutes, still astride their horses. Mercenaries had galloped into the distance to try and search for word of the Spanish, yet came back empty handed.

"Imperial Majesty! Imperial Majesty!" a voice cried. The procession looked up and watched the young bastard niece of the Empress and Queen came galloping up towards her.

"Sara, do you have news?"

"Indeed, Majesty. The Spanish King's army is imminent. They come guarding him as we speak, sight of his procession was spotted just above the Arga river."

"That's not even fifteen miles away," Sebastian noted, his brow furrowed deeply. Teal green eyes were bright from the cold and wide from the worry he felt about his younger brother and his wife dealing with the frightfully unpredictable Phillip of Spain, when they were under the protection of a known enemy to the French throne.

"It is." Francis looked towards his wife, his movement slow, his own anxiety showing. He and James would be close to his wife in this meeting, but because both French blooded consorts were merely consorts to the regnant rulers that had the true issues -Elisabeth was still safely at home in French Court- neither could be there to see the conversation the two viper-like rulers. Sebastian would be traded as a hostage, as would Don Carlos, to keep the peace and the civility, but that may not be enough to completley settle the two opposing sides.

"Well, have the horses resting and burn some fires. It seems we're going to be here for quite a while." Mary noted, slipping down from her horse, brushing her fingers over the roused black satin ball gown skirt that was covered in small diamond broaches in the crevices.

"Mary," Francis said, some hours later. From their settlement at the small, impromptu camp the French and British contingent had set up, the Spanish could finally be seen over the hill. They had stopped where they were -keeping the agreed to distance- and awaited the Empress' next move.

"Show time." Mary said, simply, fixing the stiff cloak she wore, the small eye going into the hole, keeping it closed around her throat. A grey fur lined, black suede piece that was hooded and embellished in silver thread and diamonds had been placed onto her by dear Greer, it matched the grey satin under top she wore that was settled under a high necked, long sleeve, chain metal piece. With an impressive ball gown skirt with ruched detailing, a high wasted, pleated belt -connected to the skirt, much like the one she wore on count Vincent's French scourge- clinching her waist in, she showed all the pomp and pageantry necessary to impress such a King as she was to meet. A scabbard and baldric hung from her shoulder, both silver and grey and an impressive silver blade gifted to her by her father and revamped by her husband hung from her hip. Her usual row of diamonds upon her head, ears, neck, ears and fingers, she impressed visually, but her beauty wasn't what matters now. It was the brains she held and the fox-like trickery she showed was what mattered now. And nothing but.

"Are you ready?" Francis asked his wife as they all got up from the blankets. He helped her up onto her horse, steadying her until she was settled, helping place one small foot into the stirrup.

"As I'll ever be." Mary sighed as her husband, brothers and guards hopped up onto their own horses.

Several guards trotted off first. Mary clicked her tongue, her horse following uneasily. As they passed the tip of the hill and could see what once was a battlefield, and the volume of guards and nobles the Spanish King had brought with him, Mary felt anxiety flooding through her veins. She carefully managed it, putting a Queen-like expression onto her pretty features, slowly making her way down the impressive drop of the hill.

Once down, Francis gave the word and twenty guards stayed at the top, drawing their bows in preparation of an unwarranted shot from the Spanish. Ten of them spread out across the hill, whilst the others surrounded the French King, Queen and their two bastard half brothers.

The King nodded and the guards in front of them parted. Mary caught sight of the small, far away figure of Phillip II of Spain. Pale skinned, auburn haired, dark eyed, donned in brown furs and black velvet, astride a brown mare.

Not at all what she was expecting, but she didn't dwell upon it. She looked at him for a few moments, watching as he scanned all over her body. She waited as the small circles of his eyes met hers, mirroring each other's movements as the swords they both held rose slowly, informing each other that the deal was on.

Mirroring yet again, Phillip gave a nod and Don Carlos slowly came forward astride a caramel coloured, fair maned brute. Mary did the same, and Sebastian came forward, black maned and haired, grey eyed stallion came forward in the hostage exchange.

Francis nodded his consent and protection as his bastard half brother made his way to their enemy, their own enemy coming close in their camp. Mary lowered her sword and Phillip did the same, both watching intently as the ones they trusted were placed in the dangerous grips of their enemy.

Mary clicked her tongue once more, and the three of them slowly astride forward. Phillip did the same, John of Austria and Sebastian of Portugal at his sides, his brother and his nephew. Mary watched as Sebastian de Portiers was surrounded by a circle of guards, Francis hearing the crunch of snow as Don Carlos was the same.

"Where is he?" Francis hissed.

"He'll be alright." James answered. "Phillip won't kill his own son to anger you." It was true. As much as he resented the Prince, no father would be so quick as to see his own son dead. And if Phillip killed Sebastian de Portiers, Don Carlos would be as good as. And a King needed his heir, after all. "And give him more reason for you wishing his destruction."

A few yards away, Sebastian and James hung back from the back of royals. Mary and Francis rode forward, Phillip and his own most trusted doing the same.

Several more feet, the four of them stopped. Mary reached past the baldric and scabbard, gripping the hilt of her sword slowly, raising it up high. She slightly enjoyed the shriek of metal passing through metal as the sun glinted against the silver blade. Phillip rose his own sword and they passed it over.

Francis took it, waiting patiently as his wife leaned down and rose her skirt a few inches on either side, exposing her thick black stocking covered half shin, bringing out three daggers on each side, held securely by her thigh high boots. She passed them over. Francis took them willingly. Two small blades came out of her wristbands, a thin dagger coming out of her bodice. From her hair, a throwing blade in a small wax scabbard. All the while looking at their enemy, the two continued to strip themselves of any weapons. Phillip dug a choking wire from his belt, Mary removed a poison ring from her finger, a gift from Catherine upon her eighth birthday. Phillip dug small daggers from his waistcoat, Mary reached into her mouth to pull out a small vial of poison with a rubber tip and a small, thick stick at the other end, the liquid green-yellow and sludgy, a dirty trick she'd learned long ago.

Passion and poison are not so different after all, Mary remembered the Lady Oracle saying as she gifted the thirteen year old Queen this strange new device. Should she be unprovoked kissed, simply inject the assailant with the liquid and they'd soon meet their maker.

When bare of weapons of any kind, the King of Spain and the Queen of France came together for a few more feet, becoming clearer and clearer with every passing step their horses made. She could hear the grunt of his breath with every exhale.

You really look like a Hapsburg, she thought. It was all in their signature chin and jawline. They were known for their madness and inbreeding, there was no way her precious James would marry one of them and face a lifetime of unpredictability from his foreign wife. The blood of the empire that would soon blood-rightly include France would never be poisoned by the Hapsburg's.

When they were a couple feet away, they disembarked from their horses and started to talk, man to woman.

"Neither of us can converse in the same language." he paused. "We will do so in Latin." he said, in the intricate language.

"I have the ability to speak the language of my enemy, however if you wish to do so, I will accept." Mary answered. They started to talk in Latin.

"I see the rumour of your childbearing was just that, a rumour." Phillip snarked.

"Not at all," Mary said from her horse, slipping down. "I had a son. A perfect, healthy boy who'm you tried to take from me."

"Very clever." he replied. "I'm glad you saw through the facade of the Flemming child."

"Indeed I did." she nodded. "It was you all along. You had your spies take Lola's seal from her husband after filling his body with alcohol after so many berated him for his treasonous wife. Planted it upon the crate and waited for my husband to take her head. Well, let me inform you that her neck is in one piece."

"For now."

"Yes, for now." Mary agreed. "You knew she failed in her mission to marry her bastard son to one of your girls and tried to dispose of her. The foolish little girl simple has not made the connection yet."

"Neither your husband. I am told he was fooled by the implication of the mother of his bastard in the plot against your life. It proves he is that easily manipulated."

"He will in time, now that you have confirmed my suspicions." she shrugged. "And now that you have, I have less use for the Flemming's head. But I am sure she appreciates the few extra days just until you told me what I want to know." Mary paused again. "As for my husband's foolishness, that will fade in time as he grows into a King, I will assist him and watch in pleasure as he grows from what he is now into what he will be, and he will be nothing like you, I am sure." Mary paused again. "I am curious though, why? Why take advantage of the little girls' vulnerability?"

"The bastard boy has a claim to France, because of your connection to him, a claim to England. Two less people in the way."

"Doesn't that sound familiar?" she asked. "You berate Anne Boleyn for her role in the poisoning of Catherine of Aragon, your relative, if I am not mistaken, and the attempt of Queen Mary I of England, my cousin and your long dead wife. Yet you try to do the same thing."

"May her soul burn for her harlotten behaviour." he hissed. "It worked, however. Why wouldn't it work again?"

"I have your confession, thank you very much." she answered. "And as for why, your old partner changed sides once more. Catherine de Medici saw your poison. Catherine de Medici is the reason why it didn't work again." she answered.

Phillip narrowed his eyes.

"Now, enough of the social interaction. You hate me and my regime, you are hand and glove with the Vatican, you use your influence to try and turn them against me. Why? My people will not suffer and die because of it. I will not go to war because of it."

"You are a woman." he spat. He said nothing more.

"You say woman as if it is an insult. When in reality, it is anything but." she answered, shaking her head. "I am leading a revolution, your Majesty. The time is changing where a woman belongs as a subservient role to her master, where all she is there to do is birth children by the dozen. We are so much more than breeders for the next generations or the next. We are human beings, not things to be taken or given, bought or sold. And yes, some of them may sell their bodies for gain, some of them may be foolish and ignorant. But was it not your relatives, Queen Catherine of Aragon, Queen of England, and Queen Isabella of Castile that were Kings in every way, except their bodies? You saw nobody berating them for behaving like the Kings they were and always will be. Your people take pride in their actions, I share in your admiration of them. But I will take inspiration from them and will let no man take my country from me."

"Strong words, Queen Mary-"

"Empress Mary, King Phillip. I am Empress Mary of the house of Stuart, first of my name, Empress Regnant of Wales, Ireland, England and Scotland and it's isles. I am the Queen consort of France. I am no simple Queen."

"Be that as it may, you may have the heart of a King, but I am and forever will be just as much of a King and Emperor as you are a Queen and Empress. However, you have been a thorn in the side of myself and the Vatican for far too long."

"Ah, yes. I have heard of your issues with my acts of tolerance. The times are changing, Kin Phillip. The time is over for hating a man or a woman for the family he was born to, for wishing death because of the way they worship any God they choose. It matters not which way the people wish to pray to the almighty Lord himself. It only matters what the man does with his hands. Should he serve the crown and bend the knee in loyalty and obedience, he will be rewarded well. The countries will be united and strong, instead of being weak and broken simply because their ruler has been raised too ignorant to accept the change in the realm just as one accepts the change in weather."

"I am a stout Catholic. I will forever bend the knee to the Pope and kiss the ring of the holy ghost. But you, a Protestant sympathiser, your soul will burn for the lack of integrity and subjugation you endorse. I am loyal to the one true God, the one true faith."

"It will not be me that will suffer. It will be you. The people will see the new world my husband and I create and the world my son and heir will continue to grow with his Danish wife at his side. The new world with it's power and might will one day step forth to the rescue of a dying, old regime and will liberate the old for centuries to come."

Mary stepped closer.

"I see you have wasted my time with this peace talk. You wish for it not. Then, neither will I. Let me tell you, King Phillip. And I wish for you to listen. The British are coming for you. The British and the French are coming and they will never, ever stop."

Mary rose her hand to accept Sebastian back, hopping onto her horse and slowly riding away as Phillip travelled back to his army, heir in towe.

King Francis II and Empress Mary I sat astride their horses as Mary called to their loyal subjects.

"My loyal subjects!" she called. "I come to you now as a Queen who will willingly place my life upon the line for all of my people. However, let the records show that your Queen made every move for peace in our times. And it is the Spanish King who'm insisted to bathe in the blood of your countrymen! My lords and my people, it my duty to tell you along with your King that from this moment on, we are at war!"


	35. Chapter 35

"Well, well, well, I have some news for you." Mary sauntered into the cold dungeons of the French Court, leaning casually against the door of the podium, looking down at the mother of her step son. Lola lay upon a blanket on the floor, her body pale. She looked up at Mary as her Empress and Queen entered her cell.

"Your Majesty,I-"

"I'm glad to see you've remembered your respect and place this time around." she chuckled. "I'm sure the servants that bring you food have let you know of mine and Francis' events these past two days."

"I-I am told you took a trip to King Antoine of the engagement of young Princess Margot to his son, Prince Henry."

"Not quite." she shook her head. "I met with Antoine, yes, but only for a sparse conversation to drop the baby and Greer and a few others for a few hours of respite. This morning," she spoke as if she was speaking to a rather slow child. "King Phillip and I met."

"What? You met with-" Lola trailed.

"I did. He informed me that you were not directly involved with the plot against my life. And for that, you will live."

"Thank you, Majesty. Thank you, I-" Lola moved to kneel.

"Not for everything, but you will live for that. Regardless if you were desperate and confused, forgot your place, trying to engage your bastard to a Hapsburg is treason. Conceiving and producing your Queen's bastard step child is treason. And for that, you will be punished. Finally punished." Mary smiled manically. Lola gulped audibly, starting to sniffle. "But not for a while. Your role in the war has sped things up a little. After it is over, you will be brought to justice. But not now. Oh, don't look so scared." Mary said, noticing the lock of fear in her eyes. "This is a gift for you, you get to live for longer than originally planned. If my husband had his way, your head would be on a pike before we left England."

"Y-you can't do this. Francis said that he would protect me when we returned here years ago?"

"Did he? Well, you are not French. You are still Scottish. And you are still my subject. So, Francis cannot help you. He loathes the fact you are the woman who bore his firstborn. He tells his brother and I on drunken nights that even the thought of touching you as he did once rolls his stomach. He will care for your son, he will protect him and try his best to guard his future and maybe if you hadn't committed another account of treason against your sovereign lady and mistress, maybe you wouldn't have been so publicly punished. Merely left to live our the rest of your days in scorn and neglect. But not now, Lola. Not now." she said, shaking her head towards the end.

"Did you ever think that that night in Paris would lead to all of this? Your eventual trial and probable beheading, your treason against the entire European monarchy by running away with my husband?" she slowly and casually walked down the stairs to Lola's floor.

"O-of course not!" Lola cried out, shivering from both cold and fear. "I didn't mean to get pregnant! It was only supposed to be one night, nobody would have known! I didn't want to hurt you and I didn't want to put you in danger. It just happened!"

"Do you see how foolish that argument is? You didn't mean to," Mary tutted, pouting dramatically, enjoying the effect she had on Lola. "That makes it all better, doesn't it! You didn't mean to, so I'm going to forgive and forget and nobody need know a thing again. I'll welcome you back as one of my ladies with open arms and just brush off the fact that our sons are half brothers. I don't think so!" Mary scoffed. The Empress faced the proven traitoress.

"Please, I just want to-" Lola stood.

"No!" Mary snapped, the back of her hand raising and striking Lola to the floor. (A/N again. That was so satisfying to write and visualise! Why couldn't that have happened in 2x04? Okay, back to story!) The former Lady cried out as she fell roughly to the floor. She brought a hand to her throbbing and stinging cheek, feeling what Kenna and Greer and any servants or nobles had felt whenever they stepped out of line just after Francis ran from this very castle years ago. "Why didn't I see you for what you truly are that morning in the courtyard when I returned from Scotland?!" she cried out to herself. "Why was I so blind that I thought you would be loyal like the rest of them?! Why didn't I see that you are a manipulative, self serving harlot who deserves a tenfold more than what she gets?!"

She heard Lola crying from the floor, but a sudden anger and repulsion Mary had never felt so much of before, filled her body from head to toe. She didn't even hate Lola that much when she came to see her when she and Henry were still together and they had just returned from Italy.

"But I damn sure got a sneak peak when you blamed me for Collen's pretend death! Think of it, your little farmer boy who had taken your virtue-" Mary paused for a moment. "Why would you even sleep with him in the first place? Don't you know how important virtue is in this world? If you're going to sleep with somebody, at least make it someone you're engaged or married to." she hissed. But she shook off that question, knowing it didn't really matter."Your little farmer boy who had taken your virtue was ordered by Catherine to rape me and when he was caught, you took his side! You weren't sympathetic to me at all! And when Catherine made you think that they had him killed before she actually did kill him, you blamed me!" she paused, leaning down to Lola, gripping her jaw roughly and forcing her to look up at her. Mary took perverse satisfaction at the red, swelling cheek and the bloody lip and chin. "You said I was the reason he was dead! What would you have me do?! Lay back and enjoy it, letting all hope of aid and France slip through my fingers as he took me, just so your weak little lover wouldn't face the consequences of his own treason?! What is wrong with you?!" she shrieked, throwing away Lola as one throws away a closed door.

"I was heartbroken!" Lola yelled from the floor, slowly getting up to a side laying position. "I thought my first love was dead! Are you saying you would say things you didn't mean when you thought Francis was dead?!"

"Do not even compare the two of them!" Mary yelled, advancing upon her prey. "They may have been the ones who had the misfortune of sleeping with you, but the similarities stop there!" she yelled.

"For a time, with Tomas, you tried to be loyal, all the while messing around with Sebastian knowing he was not only being the womaniser of French Court -and also, he could never marry you- and harboured feelings for me! He and Francis sleighed the monster of Portugal and you tried to take credit for it not long ago to Kenna when she confronted you in England!"

"I-"

"Stop it." she hissed. "For a time, I thought you had changed, and you did try to, I will admit, after you got pregnant, but then you stupidly got trapped in plague." she hissed. "Why didn't you just stay in the carriage? Was it your intention to lure him out there?"

"No, of course not! I didn't think you would send Francis, but a physician. Nostradamus, a guard, someone! But Francis came-"

"You told me to tell him in your letter, do not turn this around on me. Yes, Francis could have sent a physician or a guard, but so foolishly and sentimentally, he ran away into plague. I really did think you changed after you married Remy. But as I look at you now," Mary angrily chuckled. "I don't know you anymore." she shook her head from side to side, upper lip curling in something very close to disgust. "I knew somebody who looked like you once," Mary suddenly added, her tone deceptively light. "she was a liar, and a cheater." Mary's voice lowered into that low, dangerous tone she'd used on the night she, Francis and John had returned to French court. "and on one fateful night in Paris, she took a blade, much like this one," she gripped the hilt and rose it a tad. "and stabbed it right through my back and right through my heart." Mary shoved her away again. (This is literally my favourite thing ever, guys.)

"And now I will spend the remainder of my days locked away in this cell." Lola sniffles. "Ripe and ready, like a pig for the slaughter!" Lola suddenly snapped.

"Of your own violation. You made this yourself, the moment you agreed to lay with Francis. These are the consequences of you actions, Lola! You didn't think sleeping with the Dauphin of France whilst you were ovulating would cause a pregnancy? You know the changes in your body, you didn't grow up in a convent! I barely did and I know what happens then!" she spat.

"Mary, it was one night! I made a mistake! You've never made one of those? Sebastian's legitimisation bid, for instance?" she snapped, tears sliding down her cheeks.

"Stop saying that." Mary snapped. "You conceived your son in the morning." she finished. "As for my own mistakes, yes, I have made some. But no more. I am not permitted to make any. I am an Empress, a Queen since my sixth day of life." her words dropped with royal authority. "If you didn't want to end up here in this moment, you should have looked at every possible outcome that morning in Paris. Two being the most notable. A pregnancy, and me finding out. If you didn't think a pregnancy was possible, you were too childlike to lay with a man anyway. And as for me, basic monarchical loyalty should have stifled any lust between you. On your end anyway."

"It was only a few hours! A mere moment of comfort!" she cried, coming towards the wall as if to attempt to try and get away from her enraged ruler. Mary blinked owlishly.

"It matters not. A moment of betrayal to your Queen is not acceptable, not a single second. Let alone hours of it." she glared, not allowing Lola to goad her into something she'd regret. "You'll only have a few more minutes to portray your attempted alibi. I am an Empress, I have more important things to think about then your empty ecstasy. Such as a war, a war you have been a factor in igniting." she hissed. "You know, for somebody who understands not a thing about being a ruler, your actions sure have affected the fate of nations. Guiding Francis -a King- into plague. Trying to marry John off to a Hapsburg, my enemy."

"I did what I did in France because I was desperate! Because I didn't want to die, nor my baby to die in the plague! And I tried to arrange a match because Kings are dispensable! Should something happen to Francis, my child wouldn't be safe! I had to ensure a safe haven for him!"

"If Francis dies, James will be king -again, might I add- and I will be regent! Nothing will happen to the unfortunate offspring, the product of a rendezvous gone wrong that will know nothing but scorn and neglect for the rest of his life, but I cannot say the same about you!"

"I know I deserve your wrath and hatred and more, considering Francis and I share a son. But please, spare my life. My life and my sons."

"Your son's life is secure, his angering of James and George and the noble children nothing but jealousy towards them. Perhaps they will grow to enjoy each others' company in their latter years, perhaps not. But you will not force it up on any of them. He won't be punished. But you, time and again, you have betrayed me and made my life harder than need be. I gave you chance after chance to make things right, but the third time's the charm, is it not?" Mary asked. Lola's lips parted. "You will be punished once and for all."

"I know I deserve your anger, but please, see it from my perspective. Francis and you weren't together when I slept with him!"

"That doesn't mean anything!" she shrieked. "Just because we weren't physically together has just as much meaning as your declarations of close friendship and loyalty towards me for the last several years."

"What? You think that because Francis and I weren't physically together at that time, it was okay? It's true, my husband didn't think he would see me again, but you? You were going to set eyes on me mere hours later. I knew from the moment I saw you, Kenna didn't even have to interrogate you. That look in your eyes told it all. You had a plan to keep it from me, which is a treason in itself, lying to the sovereign. Let alone conceiving her bastard step child the day before she weds." Mary glared. She shook her head. "There was a time when you had meant much to me. But now," she looked her up and down, chuckling through her nose. "now you mean nothing to me.

Mary turned away from her former Lady and heard her anger evaporate and the tears grow heavy down her cheeks. She could hear the tears turn to sobs. Mary did nothing. It was Lola's time to cry.

"I want you to understand something, Lola." Mary said after several minutes of silence, broken only by the Empress' heavy breathing and the former Lady's choked cries. She heard Lola's cries not entirely stop, but stifle and took this as an opportunity to talk again. "I can hate you. I can spare your life. But I can never forgive you for what you have done to me. Not anymore."

Mary made to walk out the door, but was stopped by Lola's soft voice start to talk again, weak and exhausted.

"I don't deserve your forgiveness. But I have information for you that can benefit the war effort. More than what I've told Francis. More than Bash or Catherine or the torturer. I owe this to you."

Mary turned around slowly.

"What is it?"

"Phillip." Lola began. Mary blinked slowly, almost owlishly.

"What about him?"

"There are proven rumours that before his first marriage, he married another, whilst promised to the first wife he took. Legal under the eyes of the Vatican, not so much in the eyes of the previous King. He demanded the marriage annulled, and the couple agreed, but not before the Prince put a boy child inside her. That child grew into a man, he is the true heir of Spain and Don Carlos would be declared a-"

"Bastard." Mary whispered. "Ineligible to rule."

"Yes." Lola breathed.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked. "After everything we've done to each other."

"I have a soul, Mary. A blackened, tainted soul. But a soul that wants to be good. I want to help you in whichever way I can. Not because I want anything out of it, not because I think I can undo my mistakes. But because it is the right thing to do. I have a duty to tell you everything I know of the Spanish King, and I have. Whenever you take my head, I will kneel to my death in peace."

Mary blinked, waiting in silence for a few minutes. Lola didn't say anything at all.

"What were you thinking, Lola?" Mary asked, her voice now quiet. "How could you do that to me? How could you think I wouldn't find out?"

"I know I shouldn't have done it, and I regret it every day since, but at the time-"

"No, I don't want to hear any more of your words. They have little meaning to me in this circumstances. Now that you've told me what you know, I need you to prove their worth. I can't go off hearsay without physical proof."

"Speak to sir Miguel Igulanta. He can confirm what I say. He has the proof."

Mary nodded silently.

"What happens now, Mary? What will become of me, of us?" Lola asked, her fingers twiddling in front of her. "Our friendship." she clarified. "You hate me, and you have every right to. I know that. But, I do not hate you, after all of this. I love you as Kenna and Greer do. I know I've done awful things, none of which deserve to be forgiven. I just ask for one last chance to prove myself to you."

"What will happen to you?" Mary asked, her voice slow and languid.

"Yes."

"Go to hell." Mary shook her head, voice as sharp as a pin. "You will go to hell."

Lola paused, ever present tears making their way down her flushed cheeks.

"I understand." she whispered. "After all I've done, said, put you through. I understand. You wont see me again, Majesty."

Lola took steps backward, but Mary's voice stopped her.

"Lola?" the Empress asked, voice dripping with genuine confusion. Lola turned. "You wish to know what would happen to you and I." she started. "We're going to hell. We're going to the battlefield. We're going to war."

_My loyal subjects, _the Empress began, not that long after_. I have full confidence that if every man, woman and child, do their duty for their country, leave not a stone unturned and leave not a speck neglected to the best of their ability, we will defend our island home and our European soil that we have cared for as if it was our own. We will ride the storm of war and tame it as one does a wild beast. We will outlive the tyranny of the Spanish King. And should our allies neglect us, which I do not for a single second believe possible, we have the full ability to tame this beast for years, if necessary, we can do it alone. It is the will of your sovereign Lord and Lady, who will take up arms by your side as your generals and your judges. Along with the finest swordsmen in the world, the most tactical generals ever seen on this soil in which we are in duty to protect, the storm of battle will prove not enough to the might of a unified empire. Men and women acting as good comrades should, Catholic and Protestant working together as one, this is the vision I believe in and this is the vision I have created with all of your help. No man or woman shall be alone in this trying time, my people will aid each other as the finest comrades will always partake. Although, my people, multiple faiths and countries have fallen to the tyranny of the Spanish, and multiple more may yet fall in this almighty battle, I can swear to you on my immortal soul that it will not deter us. It will not extinguish the fighting flame that our proud and gracious ancestors have lit inside the human spirit. We will fight them. We will fight the oppression of tolerance and we will fight every single man whom stands in our way of revolutionary change. We will see this battle to it's end! We will fight in the land of the French, we will fight in the isle of the Irish, the Welsh, the English and the Scottish. We will be unified in the face of our enemy and we will face death with not an ounce of fear! We will fight with everything we physically have, we will never let them win! We will never give up our land to the Spanish and we will never let them take away our freedom! We will defend our island and our land whatever the cost will be. We will fight them in any setting. We will fight them in the seas that are our own! We will fight in the mountaintops, we will fight them in the streets, the farms and the oceanic borders! We will never surrender our victory! I believe this not for a single moment, but should our land or our island home be starved and oppressed, our spirit will never surrender it's freedom! Our empire, guarded by the finest fleet, our working men and women will forever carry on the struggle, until in the almighty Lords chosen time, the world we have envisioned and the world we will create will step forward from these dark times and flourish in a new era of this world!_


	36. Chapter 36

Two years later, the King and Queen of France walked happily throughout the walls of their preferred chateaux whenever they and their inner circle needed a break from the hustle and bustle of ruling , Chateaux de Charbonnières. Upon the heels of their growing clan of four royal children, the contented parents smiled adoringly at their litter as they giggled with each other, chasing both a rolling ball and a recently born Scottish wolfdog.

Prince James, the eldest, took in the scene with rapt attention. His big golden eyes missed nothing as he rushed down the corridor that held the door leading the rapidly warming French countryside. His mother's feistiness and his father's willingness to learn was rapt and impressive. At the tender age of five years, the boy was intelligent far beyond his years. Having started schooling earlier, he was already writing large pieces and reciting long stanza's of poetry in any foreign tongue. Smart and playful, courageous and strong, already of his growing number of siblings and the foreign beauty by his side, the Dauphin and Crown Prince would make quite the ruler as he grew up.

Running by his side was the Danish Princess Anne. In a soft gown of white with blue flowers, the little girl giggled with her male counterpart as they made chase for the young dog gifted to the royal children of the court not that long ago. Dirty blonde haired and big blue eyed, the foreign Princess had long settled into her new life. Ever since being introduced to each other a year ago, the duo were inseparable and rather similar, although the young Anna -as the family had daubed her- was a little more timid than the young Prince who was both adventurous and content to sit and read with her, whatever she would prefer.

The young two year old boy toddled next to them, giggling aloud as he made for the ball. Young Prince Lucien resembled his father in the face and hair, but his eyes were all his mother. He held her young, sweet spirit and the sense of adventure that was only tampered by his lack of size and age. Donned in sapphire and ivory, the young little Prince had been the glue that stuck his family for a time, although that couldn't last for long.

He was merely a few weeks old when Spain and England went to war. The resulting defeat of the once strong and unbeatable Spanish armada was downright embarrassing to the history books. It took almost tree years, but the result was conclusive and decisive. The battle had been fought and won, but it was an even harder battle to enter into peace talks and peace treaties. The furious and embarrassed Spanish King had been seething all the while, until the speech that even knocked the Spanish soldiers and guards to their knees in fealty to their master's enemy, who had reluctantly been turned into an ally for the Spanish people.

The war had taken a tole on all involved, however. With the King and Queen at the front lines throughout the first few months, it was all due to change when the Queen started coming down with fainting spells and vomiting. Still, like a Scot, she pushed through the illness she felt, continuing to bring blade to enemy and blood to hands. But all that had to change when her stomach started to swell a few months into the battle. It didn't take a genius to work out what was wrong with her. So reluctantly -Mary had wanted to fight with her people and her husband, but risk becoming to the babe took precedence- the Scottish Queen took up residence as Queen and Empress Regent as she grew the baby inside of her.

The pregnancy ended on a chilly autumn night, as a babe with sparkly dark eyes, plump lips and black curls escaped her mother's womb. The Princess Anne Marie Elisabeth de Stuart-Valois-Angoulême was nurtured by her mother until the winter died down, and the newborn baby Princess was transported to northern Scotland. The now one -almost two- year old little girl toddled after her brothers and future sister in law, thumb in mouth and little rag doll in the other hand, black and pink gown as crooked as ever, every inch her mother's daughter. The Empress -healthy and recovered from another brutal childbirth- returned to her husband's side to fight at the front lines. They did so for months, fighting side by side together in perfect harmony, until the Emperor managed to put another baby inside his wife. This time, a boy. A boy with blue eyes and blonde curls, sweet and perfect and tiny at seven months old currently, holding his father's looks and name. The very same baby was being held in his still young and beautiful mother's arms as she walked side by side with his father.

Prince Francois Alexander Philippe lay gargling in his mother's arms. She was grateful to finally have a child who was the product of her and Francis' strong love that held his beautiful blue eyes. Of course, Lucien held eyes a little brighter than his elder brother's, but it wasn't the same to look down at her son as she fed him from her own breast and see the eyes of the man she loved the most.

With the war over and peace -both political and personal- returning to their land, their land responded well to it. Spring and incoming summer had been kind to France and the empire. The working man's belly was full and the land was fruitful. Trade was at an all time high and a wave of relative religious peace and tolerance had freshened the land that they walked upon and the air they breathed. The protestants were settled with tolerant ruling and the Vatican contently pacified with gold by the bucket load, it seemed the King and Queen had finally created the new world that both had dreamed of for so long so many years ago.

But the peace that Francis and Mary so pined for had a price. And that price was the bloodshed seen during the war.

Although the war had been conducted mainly at sea, there was still a great deal of land-based battle that had ensured that the innocent suffer with the guilty. The slate had been wiped clean now that the Catholics and Protestants were at a level playing field, and their rulers had somehow managed to stop revenge upon revenge upon revenge. Blood had been spilled, enough to not only satisfy the vengeful but startle them. The war had been bloody like never before. Even the coldest of men shivered when the bodies of young men and growing children had been carted past them in the days past. Their blood had been as chilled as the snow underneath their raggedy boots, finally letting go of their hatred and resentment to give peace a chance.

"Be careful, my love." Francis warned as Lucien toddled outside onto the grass. Young Princess Anne giggled in delight at the feeling of grass underneath her hands as she crawled onto the soft material. She rolled onto a flowerbed, laughing in glee, before noticing another near her and making a loud noise of excitement, scrambling to her feet and rushing over to the large family strolling near them.

Mary smiled softly at the sight of her dearest Lady who had unjustly suffered so much during her life. But she had him now, him who had always been there. Who had always been in her heart, the one she had loved the most.

Her poor Lady Greer had known such pain. The beautiful lady had given birth to a little boy, Adrien Alexander Castleroy, a few months into the war. And, after assisting his younger half sister get back to her country, it appeared that the dowager Lady had fallen hard for the young Earl of Moray. Not wishing to stall the union that seemed to have been imminent ever since James lay eyes on the new mother of three, Mary allowed the wedding of her half brother and her dearest Lady in waiting. Leaving his new wife the new Countess of Moray, James went back into battle with a kiss from his wife, promising to come back to her.

To James, Greer had borne three daughters. Isabella, Audrey and Amara. But then, of course, the Earl of Moray died a few weeks short of the end of the war. The dowager Countess had been devastated to receive the news of the death of her husband, burying yet another as she held his newborn baby in her arms. But her first love had valiantly came to the rescue, repairing her broken heart and becoming a father to her children. The two were now finally wed and together, rich and titled and secure, like they had always wanted before the people they were devoted to were wed in the eyes of God and their people.

Leith and Greer were content and happy together. Greer took on Princess Odette as her own, and the French Duke -who still firmly held the King's favour, being rewarded for his bravery and loyalty- became the most perfect father figure for George, Rose, Adrien, Isabella, Audrey and little Amara. The youngest of Greer's many children was a spitting image of her mother, and completley held her step father upon her little finger, the closest friend and ally to young Princess Odette. The family unit was complete, even more so with the suspicions that Greer -ever the fertile woman- was yet again going to bring a child into the world.

"Papa." Lucien said, tugging on Francis' doublet, reaching up high to do so. The King of France smiled at the little boy, picking him up with ease.

"What is it, mon cherie?"

"Oncle Bash." the boy tried, but his words were misspoken and muddled. "Where's Oncle?" he babbled.

"He's right over there, cherie." Francis nodded to the family of five sitting together on a blanket a few yards away from them. There sat the Baron and Baroness de Portiers. Bash and Kenna sat next to each other, the latter lounging in red satin and golden lace. Their children, the Ladies Meredith and Amia and their one year old little boy, Matthias, were happy in their parent's care. The married couple had agreed no more children, yet wouldn't be opposed if it happened again. Kenna's recent miscarriage at eleven weeks had been the turning point in the agreement, but the natural maternal edge she had always felt ever since meeting the long dead little Pascal, was sure to sway the decision once again. Besides, ever since wedding, Bash had always wanted many children.

Mary looked upon the little family with a soft smile, grateful that after everything they had went through several years ago, the union between Kenna and Bash was still strong.

Turning from side to side, Mary saw all the children of their inner circle running around and playing with each other, happy in the growing heat of the French countryside. They were due to leave after the season, so Mary wished to give them as many happy memories here as possible, before they sailed to England to travel around the empire and rule upon her as her true Empress, not leaving it under regent rule. Although David Rizzio and Lord Bothwell have long since proved their worth as temporary rulers who were loyal to their Queen and friend.

"Come, mama!" a young voice said. The Queen in ivory satin and circular pearls looked down at her too grown up baby boy, smiling wide and a little pink from the sun. James rushed over to her and gripped her elbow, mindful not to jostle little Francis in his mother's arms.

"What is it, love?" her soft, melodic voice let out, smiling down at her little boy who meant so much to her.

"Come sit with us!" he insisted, gently tugging her over to sit on a scarlet blanket that servants had lay out. The one year old Princess Anne had already plopped down and was fishing her little hands in the picnic basket, plucking out an iced bun.

Mary laughed, following her boy without hesitation, laughing with him as she watched her husband start to rough house with their second eldest.

_What a feeling this was, _she marvelled_. All is well._

"I assure you, that should your daughter be bound to my master's son, she will be the most happy." the Venetian envoy insisted as he sat in front of the Emperor and Empress of the United Kingdom and France.

"Will she?" the Empress asked first, the aforementioned daughter settled upon her mothers' lap. Looking adorably beautiful in black satin and lace, silver embellishments glittering upon her little skirt and from a little circlet upon the already long black curls that hung from her head, the young Princess Anne looked up at her mother in wonder, reaching up to tangle her little fingers in her mothers' multi coloured necklace that covered her neck, throat and most of her chest. Diamonds of every colour fell from her mother's neck and throat and ears, a matching headpiece nestled into her mother's own raven hair. "Why?" Mary demanded, allowing the child to fiddle with her fingers, play with the multitude of large rings.

"Oh-umm-" the envoy stuttered. "My master, his Majesty, is the most noble gentleman that lives. I assure your Majesties, he will pass on these attributes to his own son, and the Prince will make sure that the Princess is very happy in her marriage."

"You may be telling the truth," Mary started, leaning forward upon her Scottish throne. "is it not strange that the King of Romania has been so quick, rid of his Queens, in such tragic circumstances?" she began. Mary thanked Catherine's Medici spies for the information silently. "The first, dead in bed not four months after her marriage. The second, found with her throat cut in the middle of the night, and the third dead upon her carpet, her body as red as it." she listed off. The King who'm they might someday make their daughter his in law was a very sketchy man. It was simple luck that Queen Lucia had fallen pregnant so soon after wedding this strange king. "If my child," Mary began, brushing her long fingers through Anne's soft curls. "held two heads upon her neck, then you can assure his Majesty that his offer of marriage to Prince Julian may be considered. Alas," Mary paused, pressing her fingers to Anne's exposed neck now that she moved the soft curls out of the way. "my daughter only has one."

"I beg of your Majesty to reconsider-" the envoy started to laugh nervously.

"No, the Queen of Scotland has spoken." Francis interrupted, standing up quick upon his throne, using Mary's sceptre to stand firmer. "There will be no more discussion about this marriage. You are welcome to stay two nights until the storm has passed, before you travel home to your master with the news. Good day, sir Bennit." he waved a hand. The envoy left in a scuffle.

Mary looked at him quietly, smoothing down the navy satin of her impressive, ruched skirted ballgown. Her bodice was tight against the corset she wore, a thin strip of satin just below her shoulders keeping it upright. He had been skittish ever since the privy council had told them of their desire to see justice brought to light, not just be passed around from castle to castle, dungeon to dungeon, tower to tower. It wasn't anything new.

"Why is it so hard to find a nice man for you to wed when you're older?" Mary asked her daughter, who beamed up at her mother, shuffling to stand up upon her mother's lap, now that the need for decorum and settlement was gone.

Mary held Anne's hands to keep her steady as the girl giggled and babbled in a language all of her own.

"We're lucky we have time before she weds." Francis said, seating himself back upon the throne.

"Still," Mary protested. "Don't you want Anne to be as close as James is to his fiancee?" she questioned, fixing her hair, pushing half of it in front of the right shoulder, the other half behind the left. "To be as close as we were in France?"

"Of course, but she's barely two. There's still time, love." he sighed, resting his head upon his fist that held the orb of the sceptre.

"I know, but I want her future secure." Mary answered, turning back to her child as the little girl started touching her bodice.

"Baby," she giggled. "Baby," Anne repeated. Mary smiled at her, fixing her hair and straightening the small circlet Catherine had insisted she wear. It was one of the dozen the Medici Queen Mother of France had bought for her only granddaughter on the second anniversary of her birth.

"We don't know yet," Mary reminded. "It's still too early to tell." she finished. It was true that she had been feeling off recently, more nauseous yet more hungry, and a little tired and faint more often than not, but even if she was pregnant again, it was far too early for physicians to tell. And the sweet little girl had heard of her father's suspicions when he and her had spent a few hours with Catherine a few days ago. Ever since then, she was adamant.

The rest of the day ran like clockwork. Continue to oversee Scottish politics for the rest of the day, before their own personal affairs for a little while before dinner. The large family, complete with Catherine and the King and Queen -including the de Portiers and the Bayard's, as usual- ate together and laughed, before the nighttime routine started. The King and Queen spend time with the children individually, reading stories and playing games, before getting ready for bed themselves.

Coming into his darkened chambers after his nightly game of catch with Anne, the King of France watched his wife sit at her dresser -dressed in her sleepwear simplicity- and remove the jewellery she wore that day. Their son who bore his name was already comfortably sleeping in his bassinet, so Francis slowly stripped down to his own nightwear and joined his wife in their bed.

**Sleep was easy to find when they were together. **

_Mary sat tensely on her throne, arms on the hard armrests, eyes piercing through the poor nobles that stood in front of her and Francis. The entire country knew they were having marital troubles, the fact he claimed his son and caused problems for the alliance, and his own marriage, was now public knowledge. They were known as the Ice Queen and the Desperate King. _

_It wasn't uncommon to find the duo sitting on their thrones, Mary strong and rigid on her own, not looking at him, staring down at her court, whilst he sat desperately closer to her on his own throne, continuously begging to talk through his eyes, always whispering to her. But, she never paid any attention to him, just stared down at her court. _

_The court functioned well, but everybody knew the marriage had been destroyed and was borderline over. The damage had been done long ago, and Mary was forcing her husband to live with the consequences. As far as she was concerned, he made his choice. So, she made hers. They ruled France and Scotland, but their marriage was over. She couldn't bare to look at him, let alone love him again. They functioned like Henry and Catherine did. Married, but alone._

_She watched with a clenched jaw, eyes staring holes into the poor nobles' bodies, her face stone cold as she listened to them talk. She saw Francis out of the corner of her eye, half paying attention to them, but leaning towards her. He was still begging, but Mary wouldn't listen. He nearly cost her her birth written throne, by claiming his bastard son. It was unforgivable._

_Said bastard child came into the throne room soon after, nannies behind him. The newly motherless little blonde boy ran down to the two thrones as he usually did after Lola was beheaded by Elizabeth. But, nobody expected his next actions._

_He ran to the middle of the thrones, yes, silencing the nobles and gaining his fathers' undivided attention. Francis looked down at his son, not failing to notice how his wife didn't turn her head. He doubted if she even moved her eyes to the little blonde boy. She never did._

_Nobody expected the little boys' actions. He walked away from his father and over to his stone cold step mother. By now, the entire court was silent, looking over at the Queen and her step child. It was the most interaction they'd ever had, almost._

_He reached up on his tip toes, grabbing the thin white sleeve of her dress, fingers skimming across the delicate cream embroidery, fisting the material in his hands, shaking it a little, gaining her attention. Everybody held their breaths, watching as the Queen of France and Scotland looked down at her bastard step son. The amount of time she even acknowledged his presence could be counted on two hands, and would still have a good few fingers left. It was like they were the incarnation of Catherine, Henry and Sebastian._

_He waved his hand in front of her face, indicating for her to come closer. She leaned down a little, closer to him. She could practically hear Francis' heart beating through his extravagant clothing. John-Philippe brought his little hands to his step mothers' long, soft black hair, moving it from her ear. She turned her head, hearing her earring make a noise as it was moved due to the little boys' hands._

_He cuffed a small hand, whispering into her ear for a few seconds. Nobody dared to move. They had only touched thrice before, in two years. This was so unexpected. Francis couldn't believe his eyes. Mary had never, ever, interacted with his son in front of their court. She'd only ever even touched him, in front of him, twice._

_When Mary pulled back, she looked into the little boys' blue eyes, observing how they seemed to widen and darken with tears, his little nose and cheeks getting pink. She watched his hands as they quickly moved into the air, indicating for him to hold her._

_The entire court was even more silent, if possible. Nobody expected the interaction, least of all the King. His mouth was open, eyes matching. John-Philippe had never pined for Mary before, and she'd never acknowledged him to this extent before. He'd never asked for her to hold and comfort him before. Ever since Lola's death, things had changed. Francis was stunned._

_He watched, mesmerised, as Mary sat up straight again, moving her arms to the little boys' ribs, hands clasping over the white cotton. She picked him up with ease, holding him high in the air, before sitting him on her lap, his legs across the white silk and cream embroidery. John-Philippe's arms immediately wound themselves across Mary's neck, burying his face in the crook of her neck and shoulder. If people were stunned with this development, it was nothing compared to their shock at the Queen of France and Scotland when she wound her arms around his middle, kissing the head of the personification of failure and betrayal. He closed his eyes, relaxing into her arms._

_The King of France's mouth was open in shock, watching the willing embrace of his son and wife. Her eyes found the court again, and a stern look from the hardened queen brought those back to doing what they were supposed to be, but nobody, not even her, could deny the hardness in her eyes had lightened, just a little bit._

Francis awoke with a start, jerking up in bed. He looked over, hearing a small moan. Mary rolled onto her side, but didn't wake. Prince Francis was in the bed with them now, comfortably curled into his mother. The youngest must have awoken at some point and his mother -as she usually did- took him into their bed to be closer to him.

Not wanting to risk waking either one of them, since they needed their rest, Francis slowly got up from the bed and covered his body in his robe, a lit and burning candlestick in his hand. He left the room and travelled a few coridoors, opening the door to a smaller set of chambers.

A small figure quickly scrambled under the covers. He sighed, entering the dark room and closing the door behind him. The King and Emperor slowly made his way over to the bed, setting the candle down onto the bedside table and placing his hand on the small figure's back.

"John." he said. The figure didn't move for a few seconds, before his eldest sighed and slowly came out of the covers. "Why aren't you asleep? It's late." he said.

"I can't sleep, papa." John shook his head. "I worry for mother, and what tomorrow may bring."

"Still?" Francis raised an eyebrow. "You haven't seen your mother since your youngest brother was born. Haven't you and Mary gotten along well?"

"Yes, father. Of course. I know mother did wrong in the past, and I know that Bella doesn't want to, but I worry that she will be harmed for her crimes."

"Her crimes will be atoned, child. I don't think she will suffer through it, although the people who have ensured this happen may wish her to. But her crimes will be atoned for, they have to be. She chose this path, son. So she must see it through." Francis paused. "Your Bella and your Papa are not people to betray, John."

"I know, Papa. And I know I haven't seen her in so long, but I don't want to get older and not see her."

"You won't forget her if the worst outcome happens, John. I'll make sure of it. But she cannot get away with what she did any longer. Tomorrow, Lola will be put on trial. And she may be gone from this world soon after."

Lola inhaled shakily, looking around the room she sat inside. A high ceiling and dark walls. No candles burned or danced in the wind. The clouds were overcast and visable inside the large windows upon the ceiling and the walls.

A tense silence. Breaths were quiet and loud at the same time, the tension palpable and downright painful. It seemed the cold, blackened walls grew eyes that bore into the men's very souls. The jury and the judge sat upon their chairs, looking between each other. Some were bloodlusty, some were small and observed upon their chairs, as nervous as the object of their investigation.

One gave the nod. The herald banged his heel against the cold floor and the doors slowly opened. The herald cried out;

"All rise for Empress Mary of the house of Stuart, Empress regnant of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and it's isles, Queen consort of France, Duchess of Edinburgh, Lorraine and Anjou." the herald cried. The judge and jury and the prisoner stood upon sight of the Empress.

Slow, methodical footsteps echoed through the somber courthouse. Soon, the figure arrived into the room, taking her place above the judge. She wore scarlett satin and raven chiffon, her necklace, earrings and crown substantial with rubies and pearls, face covered by a black veil that dragged longer than the skirt of her ball gown.

In her hand, she carried her sceptre, the other her English coronation orb. Mary's face was stoic and expressionless, golden eyes piercing through the jury and the privy council. She walked bridal-like, her face dark as she slowed behind the great, pearl throne. This wasn't Mary, this was the Empress. And the Empress was here to rule.

Most surprisingly of all was who walked next to her. Not quite surprising was the figure to her left. Black haired, satin and leather clad, dripping in finery. He walked with his mother, replicating her facial expression. James' eyes locked onto the prisoner, jaw tightening at the sight.

The most surprising by far was the boy to Mary's right. Older than James, golden haired and clad in grey velvet. He too looked upon his mother, but his mother was not the Empress he walked beside. No, his mother was the prisoner the Empress was here to observe. Because this, reader, this boy was John Valois.

Mary was trailed the Baroness Kenna and the Dutchess Greer, who took the boys to the side as Mary sat upon her throne. The Baroness in lilac and the Duchess in gold stood to the side with Steven, watching the veiled beauty properly take her seat and observer her Scottish Court. She sat high above the rest of her people, expression stony as everybody took upon their seats.

"Master Voltiers, read out the enditment." the Judge boomed. Mary inhaled deeply as the lead jury member started to read from the scroll.

"We are gathered here today on the 7th of June of the year 1561, the twenty first year of the reign of our sovereign Lady and Mistress, Queen Mary I of the house of Stuart, to foresee the fate of Lola Fleming. The charges, set about on the fifteenth year of the reign of our sovereign Lady, her Imperial Majesty, Empress Mary of the house of Stuart, first of her name, the lady did knowingly commit high treason against her Majesty. In addition, on the eighteenth year of the reign of Empress Mary Stuart, the lady did knowingly commit a second count of high treason and did knowingly work against the crown in an effort to weaken her Impeial Majesties standing on the world's stage." the crime was listed off. Mary highered her chin, looking down at the former Dame in black.

"How do you plead?" the herald gruffed. Mary looked from the aging herald and the former Dame and Lady, who stood upon command.

A pause. A long pause.

Several moments later, Lola spoke. Her voice was deceptively strong, yet wavered under the scrutiny of Mary's soul penetrating, golden coloured gaze.

"Not guilty, my lord." Lola announced.

An audible murmur fell upon the court. Mary exhaled through her nose, looking away from Lola to James. She looked past him, moving a hand for Steven to come forward. He did so, bowing before leaning down to hear the words Mary started to whisper in his ear. The bastard born spy listened intently as his Queen and Empress spoke quietly into his ear. James watched intently as his mother spoke to his uncle, blinking slowly as Steven backed off and walked out of the courtroom. He and his half brother looked at the retreating form of the spy and page, before their eyes slowly trailed back to the Empress.

"Silence! Silence!" the judge yelled loudly, banging his hammer against the table. Mary watched as he silenced the court. She swallowed thickly and stared at Lola through her veil as she spoke.

"I love the Empress. The love anybody would have for a girl whom she has grown up with, nursed when sick, played with as a child. I would never knowingly cause her so much pain in a way that could ensure her removal from the throne. In a moment of weakness several years ago, I made a mistake with a French noble and for that, I assure you, I pay for. However, I commit no treason in the eyes of the crown, for he held no relationship with the Queen of Scotland and at that point, neither did I." Lola paused. The more powerful of the two glared at the less, noting how she never apologised for whoring herself out in Paris, simply made excuses for it and tried to justify it.

James looked over at his mother, watching how she grew tense with hatred and disgust. Her jaw clenched, and she said nothing at all. Even John looked at Mary, not Lola.

Even John looked over at his step mother. He too said nothing, old enough to understand the truth of his conception and how one kiss lead to all of this.

"I admit, I worked against the crown to ensure my child's future. However, all my actions were were the first step in an alliance with the Haspburg Dynasty, a way to soften the hatred between the two feuding houses for eternity. It is a sad day when one has to defend one's actions, no matter how honourable. And a sadder when one's father attempts to solidify the death of his young." Lola announced, looking Malcom Flemming in the eye. She never could hold Mary's gaze for long.

"An even sadder when that same offspring is charged with high treason against her country and sovereign ruler." Malcom hissed. Hearing this, Mary smirked in pleasure.

"Charged is not convicted, father." Lola almost huffed. Mary frowned. Was this child ready that stupid? "Or is it, in this court? To have the ability to wrongfully put a woman to death due to a mistake long attoned for." Lola finished. "Judge me, my lords. Judge me for all I have done wrong, but never forget, your actions hereso present will be judged by God. In the greatest court of all." she finished.

Mary straightened her back, settling her neck up high and her shoulders back.

"My lords of the jury, it is time to pass judgement." the judge hissed to the jury.

"Guilty."

"Guilty."

"Guilty."

"Guilty."

"Guilty."

"Guilty."

"Guilty."

"Guilty."

"Guilty."

Malcom Fleming sat forward, looking Lola Fleming straight in the eye.

"Guilty."

The gate slowly squeaked open with a loud cry. Hushed breaths could be heard from the traitorette doomed to die by the hand of those she betrayed. Her arms were bound at the back by a thick layer of scratchy rope that dug into her wrists despite the long sleeves of her black gown embroidered by pink flowers. Brown hair was wrapped up at the back, the neck visible and open.

The guards forced her up he steps and over to the scaffold. The herald -a platinum blonde, blue eyed male, was donned in silver chains and a red doublet, the English lion big and proud upon his chest.

"You are guilty of high treason against her Imperial Majesty, Empress Mary of England, Wales, Ireland and Scotland and it's isles, Queen Consort of France. Do you have any last words as you stand before any last words as you stand before your Empress and your God?"

Lola paused, sniffling.

"G-good Christian people, I come to wield myself to the will of the Enpress and the Emperor, my mistress and master who have always treated me so well and have shown me a tenfold more happiness and protection than what I have had right to. I obey to te will of the Empress, to finally face judgement of my actions several years ago, and wish her to quell any sadness or guilt she way experience as my child grows with her own. I am aware that in my life, I offended the Queen's Majesty, and I take comfort in the fact that my death will now atone. I pray, and beg of you all now, to pray for the life of the Empress, my lady. The lady whom I have loved and cared for all my life, yet whom has shown me so much kindness and grace in which I do not deserve. Should a man judge my case in six hundred years in the future, I ask him only to judge it kindly."

Lola took a step back and servents slowly started taking off her gown, leaving her in her plane, white chemise. Her hair was covered by a cap tied around her chin and jaw, shoes and stockings removed.

"I-I now take my leave of this world, and of all of you who have been witness to my departure. I beg only that my child remain safe in the care of those he loves and trusts. However, his father and godmother will give him the best care he could hope for, and for that, I am eternally grateful. I beg he remembers me not as the woman who betrayed the only mother he will ever truly know, but the woman who gave her life in an attempt to keep him safe."

Lola finished stuttering and stumbling over her words, speaking to the crowd, but only speaking to the crown as she sat at the back of the courtyard upon a raised throne to observe the execution. This time, Francis' eldest children weren't there, but the Baroness and Duchess stood at their rulers' side.

The executioner came over to her, veiled in black, gripping her by the back of the neck and moving her towards the execution block. Lola went willingly. She knelt at the block. He pushed her forwards. Lola went willingly.

The axe rose. And then it fell.


	37. Chapter 37

"Mama," young Lord Francis Stewart murmured as he lay his head upon his aunt's midsection. Mary brushed her fingers through his long blonde hair, his green eyes half lidded as his adoptive mother slowly soothed him. The young boy hadn't been feeling well this summer, a nip in the air causing a wheeze in his chest. Mary sat upon her chair in her study, slowly penning a draft to the King of Portugal about a possible marriage for her daughter. The little boy was curled up in her lap, searching for the comfort she had brung him ever since her brother's death.

"My love." she murmured back, rather preoccupied with the letter and the other young Francis, who lay in his small crib near his mother, contently resting after the feeding she had given him a few minutes before. He fisted a small fist of her skirts, holding her closer to him. Ivory lace and golden embellishments tousled together as she continued to work. It had been almost two weeks since the trial, and her family had been working in cold symphony ever since. The children seemed happily oblivious to the events, yet those who could understand worked in cold counterpart with one another.

"Don't feel good." Lord Francis murmured, pushing his face closer to her warmth and scent.

"You don't have a fever." Mary placed the back of her ring covered hand onto his forehead. "How about you lay down and I'll send for some soup?"

"No, mama." he muttered. Mary sighed through her nose, gently cupping his face with one hand, brushing the soft tendrils from her nephew's face.

"Okay," she agreed. "But I have to go to talk with my husband soon, alright?"

"Yes, mama." he mumbled, already half asleep. Mary smiled softly, rubbing her fingers over his cheek. The young boy smiled in his slumber, enjoying the fondness that the only true mother he had ever known showed to him.

Mary gently lifted him up into her arms, shushing his murmurs, and placed him in the crib that was meant for Lucien and Anne. The young Empress covered him up in the lilac satin, fixing his clothes so they were more comfortable to take rest in, before the door opened.

Emperor Francis walked inside, wearing that same expression he did when he found out that his wife had spoken to his guards about Sebastian, just after the two of them had returned from their honeymoon. But he smiled when he saw her and their sons, one adopted and one natural.

(I've just realised that there's three Francis' in the one scene. Try not to get confused, guys!)

"My love." Emperor Francis breathed, enjoying watching her play the role of mother almost as much as he did when she played the role of wife or Queen or Empress. He came inside the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Mary smiled at the man she loved the most, still so enamoured by the fact a man of such beauty and intelligence was wed to her. He had been the perfect, model father, husband and ruler ever since Lucien's birth. It was hard to believe that at one point, not that many winters ago, where she had hated this man, an even harder thought that she had wished him dead. And now, she loved him more than she could say, more than any -bar four- person alive, almost more than the countries she ruled upon.

"My darling." The dark haired beauty smiled, leaving the children and coming over towards her husband. He took her into his arms, as gentle as ever, pressing his lips to hers in a sweet embrace that made her heart flutter and her skin heat.

"I love you." he murmured as he pulled away. She smiled contently up at him, cream chiffon and white lace gown hanging loosely off her frame.

"I love you." she sighed in pleasure. He cupped her cheek, pressing another kiss to her forehead. Mary closed her eyes slowly.

"Is he okay?" Her husband pulled away a few inches, looking over at their adopted son.

"His fever has broken, but he's weak and uncomfortable." Mary replied, watching as he walked over to the little boy. The elder fixed the younger's hair, before walking towards his baby son. The King picked up the Prince, smiling brightly down at the young child in his arms. Mary smiled brighter, always as happy to see the man she loved with the child she -for many years- didn't believe she could ever possibly have.

"He loves his papa." Mary observed. It was true. His natural son who bore his name was not only his namesake and his almost complete lookalike, but he so obviously adored his father above anybody else.

King Francis looked up with a sheepish grin, a twinkle in his eye as it always had been when he held one of his children -no matter their mother- in hid arms.

He said nothing, just looked back down at baby Prince Francis, who started gurgling and reaching up to his father, smiling his gummy smile and grinning his large grin.

"What were you working on?" the elder asked, his eyes skimming down the paper his wife had been working on for a few hours.

"Anne's marriage to the infantè of Portugal, as we discussed a few days ago." Mary noted, brushing her hair back from her shoulders to behind her back. Francis nodded.

"Are we still completely sure this marriage is wise, considering what happened with your brief engagement to Tomàs?" the King questioned.

"His nephew is not him, love. The Prince is only a year old, and they'd grow up in our care until they wed and go to Portugal. With our influence and Hugo's personal developments, I'm sure the marriage would be a happy one." Mary listed. "Besides, it's a simple proposition, nothing is finalised just yet." she nodded.

"I know, I just worry for her."

"As do I, love. Our only daughter is bound to be a little over protected at times, however."

"I can't help it, however. She's my-"

"Baby girl, I know." Mary smiled fondly. Francis smiled sheepishly again. He seemed to flush a little.

"Don't be embarrassed." Mary joked. "It's not a bad thing, you're a brilliant father to our children." she now honestly said, walking towards her husband and their baby, pressing a kiss to the side of her husband's head and on top of their baby's forehead.

"Thank you." King Francis smiled, passing their baby onto the bassinet. He gurgled loudly, his little arms stretching up high for his parents. Francis smirked at his son, wrapping the Prince's small hand around his own finger.

"I love you." Mary smiled down at her baby, walking away from the pair and returning to one of the tables with the correspondence with her diplomat that was situated in Portugal.

Mary found herself missing James at moments like these the most. Although Francis was a fierce politician, James Stewart, the Earl of Moray, had always been the man who had worked best with her in political issues. But that man that dear, dear man was now gone to her forever, and for quite a while now, too. The brother closest to her had given his life for her in the war with Spain, and although she would never get him back, she would always hold a part of him in her memories and in his daughters.

Mary sighed, letting go of that pain and grief for the time being. She flicked through the pages for a few moments, not really reading what she knew she probably should, but was distracted again as the door opened again.

In walked Kenna.

"Majesties." She curtseyed. Mary looked her long and hard. Even Kenna, who had pretty much hated Lola since she and Francis returned from Italy when James was a baby, seemed such different since the former lady in waiting took to the scaffold not two weeks ago. A little grief stricken, yes, but far from bereft and weakened. But that wasn't it. The Baroness just seemed different. A little more timid and reserved, as if frightened of Mary, more than she had been in the past. Hell, even more than when she stepped out of line and met the back of her Queen's hand as punishment, when they thought Francis was dead.

"Kenna." Mary acknowledged. "What is it?" She asked.

"Catherine." she started. "She wishes to see you in the throne room. Apparently there's some trouble with a couple noblemen that need your attention." Kenna replied.

"Very well." Francis answered. Mary looked back at him, seeing his namesake in his arms again. They both walked out the room, leaving Kenna to keep an eye on the young boy who still slept in his cot.

"Mother," King Francis announced as he and his wife entered the throne room. Catherine looked up from her triangular huddle and looked at her son. The stern look she wore evaporated as soon as she saw her son holding her grandson, and the ten month old young baby awake and gurgling.

"Oh, how darling!" Catherine gushed, raising her skirts to the light red satin and the dark scarlet velvet gown she wore, so the golden lace slippers she wore -as usual, the heel was high, making it difficult to walk. But Catherine always adored those heels she wore so, wearing them almost constantly around Mary, seeing as though the Scottish blooded royal held almost an entire foot to her Medici mother in law, even as a child, Mary was almost of a height with her- were visible. Catherine rushed as quickly as possible to the two Francis', taking the baby from her own baby's arms, cooing down at him.

Mary smiled, as real as possible, always amused by the enchantedness the Medici Queen Mother of France showed whenever she held one of her grandchildren in her arms. Hell, she was even ecstatic when she held Queen Elisabeth of Spain's daughter in her arms, and the entirety of Europe knew how much she preferred baby boys to baby girls. There was something about babies that melted the icy Queen's heart, it was most apparent.

"Look at those eyes, those are some blue, blue eyes. Yes, they are, yes, they are." Catherine cooed. Mary laughed quietly. It was unclear where the blue eyes of Francis, his youngest son and a couple of his siblings came from. The Medici's were noted for their hazel eyes, and the Valois for their brown, almost black.

"Mother-" Francis tried to interrupt, but Catherine waved her hand at her son to silence him. King Francis obeyed, but his eyebrows rose high upon his forehead in surprise.

"Not now, darling."

"Catherine!" Mary interrupted her mother in law's coos, finally getting Catherine's attention after sever failed attempts were made by her husband. "You called us here, why?" she asked.

"Ah, yes!" the Queen Mother nodded, coming out of her facade and handing Prince Francis back to his mother. "The King of Romania," she started.

"What does the damned fool want now?" King Francis huffed. "We've already compensated him for the rejection to Anne's failed proposal. What else could he want?"

"He's not happy that his bloodline won't contain that of your children," the Queen Mother noted. "His ambassadors may be doubling as spies."

"We didn't know that's what ambassadors are actually for?" Mary asked, but she was ignored.

"The Lords Ethros and Omega?" King Francis asked.

"Yes, one of them is doing more than just trying to keep the peace." his mother replied. "The question is, which one?"

"Yes, that would be the question." King Francis rolled his eyes. Queen Mary smirked at her husband, always entertained whenever Catherine irritated her son. "Thank you for pointing out the obvious, mother." he huffed.

Catherine appeared to barely refrain from smacking her son for his cheek, doing so only because the throne room was full of courtiers.

"Enough of that tongue, child." Catherine glared. "We have to find out which ambassador is acting as a spy, and end the threat before it turns into what happened with Spain."

"Again, you're pointing out the obvious, mother." Francis rolled his eyes. Catherine scowled.

"If we have issues of espionage and deception, Catherine," Mary butted in. "There's a simple solution."

"Oh? What is that?"

"A blue dye." Mary simply replied. "We did it several times in France, it's how we realised that Antoine did what he did to your husband, and that Narciesse knew about it."

"Indeed," Catherine's eyes sparkled with anger and excitement. "What shall we do?"

"Set a honey trap." Mary informed. "Whomever gets the false information to the King, we will execute upon the spot."

"So, what will the honey trap be, exactly?" King Francis asked.

"I do believe that this is my area of expertise, my child." Catherine smirked.

The Queen of France sat uncomfortably in her carriage. Nerves cut her insides to the point of pain, and it wasn't because of the rather substantial bump clinging to her skin. Just three months after Catherine's decision to take over the spying issue with Romania, the Medici Queen Mother of France had been suspiciously quiet. And a silent Catherine de Medici was usually more deadly than a loud and proud one. But many things had been happening in the lives of the young royalty that ruled upon France and Great Britain.

Most notably, the bump that was kept not even a little hidden underneath Mary's pretty dress. Physicans had been correct in their suspicions of pregnancy within the Empress. But the bump was growing at a somewhat alarming rate, giving the implication that the child growing inside of her wasn't all alone inside his mother's womb. It was comforting, albeit alarming for the young Scottish Queen, who was well aware that multiple children births and pregnancy were even more dangerous than a single birth, when single births were already dangerous enough as it was.

But that wasn't the only cause for anxiety. Today, something just felt a little different. She knew there wasn't much cause for concern. After all, there were almost thirty French guards surrounding the carriage of the Queen and Princes and Princesses of France, and Kenna and Bash and Amia and Meredith and Phillip were only just a half mile away. But still, Mary felt unsettled.

Her white satin gown clung a little too tightly to her body for Mary's liking, the extremely intricate gold satin embroidery -a gift from Catherine- covering the bardot cut, long sleeved piece. The gems sparkled along her stomach, a rose petal like piece holding skirt to bodice. A floor length, white lace, high neck housecoat was placed over her, underneath a fur lined silver satin cape. Long black hair was pulled into a rose braid, half of Mary's thick raven sea pulled up into the rose-appearing braid, the other long and loose, the ends curled. Small flowers were placed all over the braid, a high tiara of teardrop cut diamonds settled at the front. Long chandelier earrings skimmed her bare shoulders, a necklace of pearls and diamonds glittering upon her chest.

The Queen of France looked down at the sleepy thirteen month old baby boy, every inch his father. He reminded her a lot of little Prince Henri or Hercules since she hadn't ever seen her husband at this age, and even if she did, she was younger than him, so she wouldn't remember. All done up in ivory satin and dusty blue silk, the young, fair haired, blue eyed bundle of love and happiness for the Queen and King of France sat in his mothers lap, fiddling with a small toy that Greer had gifted him a few months previous.

Beside her, Princess Anne de Valois. Green velvet covered the little girls' neck, chest, arms and shoulders, whilst a high wasted skirt of teal green covered by a layer of black organza covered her legs. The small girls' hair was pulled up in a tight braided updo, a small silver and emerald tiara carefully balanced upon her head. Anne loved her mother's jewels, so was carefully making sure not to jostle one of her very first crowns of her own.

On the other side, the Princes Lucien and James. Her Dauphin was donned in the black leathers like his father used to wear as a child. But her little Lucien was in his blues and blacks and whites, fiddling with a small gadget gifted to him by his godmother upon his last birthday. James, proving himself Francis' son, looked out of the window, taking in each and every detail of the outside world away from him, whilst her little boy fiddled with his small gadget. Like his father, Lucien was enamoured with astronomy, so he had been enthralled with this small gadget ever since it had been gifted to him.

Mary inhaled, pressing a hand upon her growing baby bump, the anxiety within her growing and growing. Her breath shook, and she subconsciously held the youngest of her children closer, the one inside of her and the one upon her lap. The Empress couldn't explain this feeling, but she knew it wasn't a positive attribute and knew that it had to be a negative aspect. Mary placed a hand to her lips, biting her nails as she glanced out of the window. Why was she panicking so much? They had just left Ambérieu-en-Bugey and were on their way back to court.

That question was asked when the carriage suddenly jolted. She inhaled sharply, one hand gripping Francis and the other holding Anne. The young girl gasped aloud at the sudden feeling of falling forward and Mary quickly closed the window, seeing a guard fall from astride his horse. She turned away from the noise of pain the man let out, reaching over to close the window curtains on the other side as well.

"Mama," James asked quietly. Mary glanced at him. "What's happening?" he asked.

She didn't reply for a few moments. Mary peaked out of the curtain, holding her babies closer, before quickly shutting the crimped red velvet curtain and turning to her boys.

"Children." she addressed like a stern governess. "Come here." she demanded. "Now." she clarified. Instantly, Anne shuffled closer and James and Lucien came to either side of them. Mary held them closer, pushing them all to one side in an attempt to protect them all equally from a threat that she didn't completley understand.

The carriage silently stopped for many minutes. Mary tensed, hating the fact she couldn't fight back, but the protection for her children both born and unborn had to take presidence. Why couldn't Francis have come with them? Why couldn't Bash and Kenna have been in the same carriage as them?

Soon, it started rolling again. Mary held all of her children, bundled up at one side of her, very close to both her and to each other. Mary's body was tense with a mix of fear, uncertainty and adrenaline. The cold blade held upon a garter seemed fuelled by fire, tingling against her skin as though it held a power of it'sown, but it was so cold now. Her heart raced and she inhaled slowly, knowing for sure that these weren't the same people that they started with. She couldn't do anything. She was pregnant with possible multiple babies, she couldn't fight them. She couldn't deny them for fear of them hurting her living babies.

So what the hell was she supposed to do now?

"James." Mary quietly said, after what felt like eternity. The atmosphere was thick with tension and electricity. Mary felt powerless, one of her -if not the- least favourite feelings in the world.

"Mama." he said. She turned to him, sitting at the back of their little bundle, holding all of them tightly together.

"I know you're scared," she could see it in his eyes. "but I need you to be brave right now, and protect your siblings. I'll get you out of this, okay?"

"Yes, mama." he nodded. "Are you sure?"

"I'll protect you before anything else. You four," she moved her hands over all of them. "and the babies mean the world to me, I promise, in the end, we'll be alright."

The carriage stopped a few miles later. Strangely, the 'guards' placed the stepping box by the door of the carriage, reached inside quietly to unlatch it, and even more surprisingly so, a hand was held out to help his Queen outside.

Mary furrowed her brows. This was unexpected. She looked towards him, quickly shifting her children to her. James and Lucien were held onto one hip, Anne and Francis upon the other side. She held the baby securely, her eldest's hand reaching over his younger brother to hold his youngest siblings head up, seeing that his mother could not. Mary smiled gratefully, feeling Anne wrap herself around her mother, clinging to her in tears. She placed a kiss to Anne's head, slowly and reluctantly taking the 'guards' hand, allowing him to help her out.

It was better to pretend to trust, to butter them up, and gain their favour than to irritate them when she had more than herself to loose.

"What is it?" Mary pretended that the guards surrounding her were the same ones as her children burrowed themselves into her, seeming to not mind at all that her frame was slightly contorted by the growing bump upon her abdomen. "Why've we stopped?" she asked, noting every little detail about this small little cottage and the surrounding woodland area and fields surrounding them. She observed every granular detail about every single man surrounding her, the light grey clouds above her head, bright and wonderful in it's pre sunset state.

"Majesty," the first man gruffed. "It's almost night, you and the children must take refuge until the sun sets and rises once more. We've sent word to the King and the Queen Mother. I strongly advise you to go inside, highness." he said. Mary blinked owlishly. It was so obviously a decoy, but she couldn't think of an ulterior motive two dozen men could have towards herself and her children. France had prospered since the end of the war, religious tolerance keeping catholic, protestant and pagan safe, and the year had been kind to France, the working man's stomach always sated and full. What on earth could be the cause of this?

"Come, highness," another man said, extending an arm out towards the door of the shack. Straightening up, Mary forced a smile and a strong facade, ignoring how winded she felt by carrying all of her children. Knowing there was no other choice, Mary reluctantly walked into the shack, a little bit grateful for the burning hearths relieving herself and her children from the cold.

"Come, highness." she was lead into a stingy room with almost nothing inside. It was grey or black in colour, all dust and dirt and stale air. A burning hearth and a chair sitting near it, a dust covered wardrobe in the corner. No bed, no anything else. Just that.

"Sit." she was ordered. Gritting her teeth, for she always hated taking orders from another, especially one who was below her on social rank. She glared in front of her, slowly walking towards the chair and sitting herself down, laying her children onto her lap.

"Goodnight, my Queen." he smirked. Then the door slammed closed. And Mary and her children were alone.

"Mama, where are we?" Lucien asked, clinging to his mother's dress as she slowly adjusted his cape to cover him more. "Where are we? What are we doing here? I want to go home to papa!" he babbled.

"I know, my little bird." she soothed, running her hand over his blonde hair. "I'm not sure where we are, but I promise that I'll get all of us out of here, somehow." Mary promised.

"Promise?" Anne asked, looking up from her mothers' breast, her big dark golden eyes almost black with tears. She was always such a sensitive child, even though a resulting boldness was coming out of her whenever they were as safe as could get in court. But when she wasn't, she was simply a frightened child.

"I promise." she nodded, kissing her daughter's head as her youngest settled against her lap. The children bunched up together upon her skirts, sharing the limited space they had seeing as though a large bump was taking up a fair portion of it.

They spent almost an hour together, silent except for their breathing and the children's occasional sniffles. The youngest three seemed to have fallen asleep for a few minutes, but it was an uneasy sleep that was broken soon after. James leaned his head upon his mothers' shoulder, depending upon his only constant even more than he did when she carried Lucien inside her womb. Those years of sparce visits in the war had left him frightened of her forever departure, even more so now that he was older and understood the danger of childbirth. And he knew that a possible multiple pregnancy -like it seemed strongly possible- was even more dangerous than a singleton.

"Come, loves." Mary said, pregnancy induced tiredness overflowing her system, although she knew she couldn't take rest. She inhaled slowly, silently apologising to the child -or more likely, children- inside of her for not giving them what they needed at this moment, after feeding Francis and allowing him to take more rest in her arms. The Queen of France shuffled Dauphin James and Prince Lucien and Princess Anne out of her arms and onto the floor, closer to the fire. "The sun has set, it's getting colder. You must keep warm, we don't want Papa to see you sickened, now. Do we?" she asked.

"No, mama." Lucien answered, accepting his place onto the floor more than James or Anne did. They leaned against Mary's legs as she held her youngest close to her, wrapping him in the fur cape to keep him as warm as possible. But the Empress placed the baby Prince into her eldest's arms, covering him with the blue and golden blanket in which he had held since his first day of birth, when she heard a small noise coming from behind them.

The noise happened again and Mary frowned. It sounded kittenish in a way, almost sickened. She stood from her uncomfortable chair and walked over to the corner of the room.

"Mama, be careful." James said. Mary took his words in, but knelt to the ground, seeing a little lump hiding behind the cabinet and leaning against the wall, curled up in a ball.

"Hello?" she asked, the lump obviously human. "It's alright, I won't hurt you." she said.

The human lump shuffled. And she caught sight of his eyes.

"Jean?" Mary asked in shock, immediately taking her step and god son from his perch on the floor and into her arms. He was a little damp and so cold. How long had he been there? What on earth was he doing here? "Child, what happened? What did they do?" she asked, taking him into her arms and walking swiftly back to her chair, the six year old Baron whimpering as he curled into his step mothers' arms.

"Bella," his words trembled with tears and childlike fear as his bella placed him as close as she could to the fire without him getting hurt. "The bad men took me from le consier when I was going to see him and Philippe." he mentioned Francis' childhood friend, the duc of Ambien, of whom he had been spending some time with, bonding with the duc's son, Philippe. "It's been a long time, Bella." Jean nodded into his step mothers' neck.

"Shh, it's alright." Mary comforted, shushing the six year old child. "I have you now, I'll keep you safe." she nodded.

"Your Majesty," the guard panted. He handed Francis his son's blanket, a blue and gold piece that was soaked with slicking and drying blood. "there's news of the Princes and the Princess, the Baron of Velay and her highness, the Queen." he continued speaking as his King looked upon the bloodied blanket.

"No." the King shook his head, finally looking up blue eyes big. His face was pale and his stomach rolled in fear and disgust. "What's happened to them?" he asked.

"Your highness, the impostors bore the insignia of the hit men owned by the Medici, your highness." Francis looked at the guard deeper. He looked around, every nook and cranny, seeing what he was looking for. He looked back at the guard, speaking again.

"Take my mother." he decided. "Place her in the dungeon for this treason. I will not be moved this day." he seethed, the tears in his eyes real and bright.

Francis stormed into the dungeons in which his mother was being held. He looked around to the nooks and crannies of the dungeons, waiting for that one little spot before he talked once more.

"You killed my family!" he yelled, storming into the room in which Sebastian and Kenna de Portiers stood with her. Kenna's lips parted to ask her half brother in law what he was talking about, but Francis answered her silent question before she could ask it.

"She had them kidnapped." he pointed at his mother in chains. "Mary and the children. She had them kidnapped, she traded the lives of my innocent children and my wife to save her life!" he snapped.

"No, Francis, she couldn't have-" Kenna walked forwards. But Francis interrupted her.

"But the kidnapping was botched, and-" he paused for breath, eyes growing with craze and redness. "My son, my infant son, was killed during the attempt. You murdered my son!" the King of France yelled out.

Kenna's lips parted. "That-that can't be right. There must be a mistake!" she pleaded.

"There's no mistake! I held my child's blood in my hands!" he yelled. "We captured one of her men and he confessed to everything." Francis spat, drawing his sword.

"Catherine, what have you done?" Sebastian asked, walking forward a few steps, to put himself in between them.

"Nothing! I've done nothing!" she cried desperately.

"I should have killed you a long time ago." Francis declared, before swinging his sword high in the air. It came crashing down near his mother's face and she screamed in fear before Sebastian tackled his brother and King to get the blade from his grip.

"Francis!"

"I would never harm Mary or your children! Any of them!" Catherine cried out.

"Speak again and I will cut out your heart!" Francis screamed, pushing away Sebastian and gripping his brother's own blade in retaliation for the loss of his own. "Even if you didn't order it, my son is dead because of you." he hissed. "My wife and children may be as well."

"Oh, God, no." Kenna whispered.

"We will find my family, and you will lose your head, alone in this dungeon, before the day is done." Francis hissed.

"I didn't harm your son!" Catherine screamed behind her son as he stormed out of the dungeon. But Francis ignored her.

"Francis." Sebastian said. His King and brother jerked out of his place sitting upon the settee near his brothers' legs. The King of France looked broken. His face pale and his hands bloody, eyes almost black and red from his devastation. The Baron looked around the nooks and crannies of the walls and the door, seeing what he was looking for. Francis looked up at his brother. Sebastian lowered his head for a beat. And then the younger started to talk.

"T-the children and Mary were on their way back to us, but upon the road, the impostors took a hold of the guards places and took them somewhere. I don't know where." Francis shook his head. "One of the guards that survived the ordeal got word back, and our men tried to get them back. B-but-" Francis stopped. He sniffled loudly, running his hands roughly over his face. Sebastian's lips parted. "He managed to get a few good licks in, told us of how his victim gave up the plan about Mary and the children and the children she carries inside of her. But the plan had already fallen apart, ours to save them. Apparently, there was a fight, for them, our guards against their men. But my son, my infant son, he fell." Francis gasped out. Sebastian cried openly, sure of the devastation upon his face. "His-his his head." Francis shook his head and broke down. He cried into his hands.

"Francis." Sebastian said, coming over to his younger brother and King, wrapping his arms around his little brother. He allowed Francis to cry as much as he wanted upon his shoulder and chest, looking around for that little bit of information that would tell them what to say next. He found it, placing a kiss to his brothers' blonde curls as he pulled back, wiping his face again.

"We can't find them anywhere. Mary and the children. None of them. Bash-" Francis looked up. Even though Sebastian knew the truth, the tears upon his brothers face and the way his voice cracked as his nickname was spoken damn near broke Sebastian's heart. It was like he was that nine year old little boy who was in devastated shock when his nine year old companion was taken away from him in the dead of night.

"We went to the place where they were kept. There-there's no sign of them. But they told me that-" Francis took a breath. "Bash, they had Jean." he revealed. "The guard told me he saw Jean in Mary's arms." he seethed in a breath. "I don't even know if any of them are alive, but the baby-" he choked. "Brother, all I see is his face, everywhere. His smile. How..how could they do this?" he whimpered. Francis broke down in tears, not even stifling them all as Stephane Narciesse burst into the room. Catherine's newly exposed lover looked frightened and exhausted.

"Francis." he said. Sebastian took up to protect his brother and King if necessary. He looked behind the Lord Chancellor, spotting the thing he needed to see. From the corner of his eye, Francis moved a little. It caused Stephane Narciesse to speak. "Francis, Mary is still out there. I know her code better than anyone, the symbolism and the notes. I believe your wife is alive, your children, too."

"How?" Bash asked.

"When you and the mother of your bastard were in Italy, your wife and I quarrelled over so much over her first pregnancy and first early motherhood. However, as much as she and I dislike and mistrust each other, I came to respect her as a ruler and as a person. I know her code and her symbolism, her notes to assure. I believe she is alive, I have seen a few. Please, allow me to prove my fealty to you and your wife by saving her and your children."

"What do you need?" Bash asked. "Men, horses?"

"Yes. And weapons." Narciesse said. "Give me a few hours, I will have your wife and my Queen back in this castle."

"You may have whatever you need." Francis stood up. "But I am going with you."

"Very well, Majesty."

"Mama, please!" Anne cried out as Mary held all of the children close to her. "Help! Help! I'm scared!" Anne cried out as her mother held her and her brothers tighter. Mary kept her body angled away from the door, clenching her eyes shut as she listened to the familiar sound of battle and death. The heave of breath and the clanging of swords and weaponry. The cries of the dying and the infuriated roars of the living. The Queen sat hunched over the young children, using her body to protect all five children. They all cried aloud at the sound and she protected them as much as she could, but the kicks and turns of the children inside of her and the cries of the ones in her arms caused distraction. She breathed slowly, in and out, trying to settle herself and guard the children to the probable face of battle.

Suddenly, everything became quiet. Mary looked up from her hunched over position, eyes glowing more silver than gold. She inhaled shakily, tears streaming down her face, hearing the children's sniffles and their small hands gripping her tightly. She held them tighter.

Silence upon the battlefield meant one of two things.

Mary inhaled sharply as the door suddenly was kicked open, swinging wide. The children caught sight of who it was before she did. The eldest two gasped and rushed towards him.

"Papa! Papa!" John and James cried out.

"Oh, my loves." Francis breathed as they were suddenly all in his arms. He took all the children in one arm with ease, wrapping the other around his pregnant wife. The King of France breathed deep, fast and hard, pressing hard kisses to all of his children and his wife. Francis knelt to kiss his wife's growing bump, feeling movement and kicks under his lips. He stood up and held them all tightly to himself, pressing them hard against himself.

"Oh, I was so worried." Francis breathed out. "Are you hurt, did they do anything?" he asked, his voice was quick. So quick that Mary barely understood what he said.

"No, no. We're fine, we're all okay. They didn't harm them, thank God." Mary answered.

"The baby, is he okay?"

"Yes, Francis is fine. They weren't touched." Mary smiled, touching her husband's face.

"I'm glad." Francis kissed all of his children again. He tightened his grip upon his wife, pulling her closer. "Come, we have to go home."

Heralded by two guards, Catherine de Medici walked slowly towards the two thrones of France. The throne room was abandoned besides the King, Queen, Dauphin, Princes and Princess of France, along with the illegitimate Baron. Bronze caped gown trailed behind her as she looked into the infuriated face of her golden child and of the impassive face of her daughter in law. They had washed off the dirt and the dust and now changed. Francis wore dark blue velvet with silver embroidery, his sword large and tall whilst his wife was donned in teal chiffon with gold upon her bodice, the tutu-like skirt big and bold, making the baby bump large and noticeable. Mary's curls fell to one side, a tight braid holding the other side, a golden tiara hanging in her hair. All of the children sat at Mary's feet, silent and close together.

Francis looked behind all three of them, waiting for the thing he wanted to appear in the distance. Once it did, the King growled, staring his mother down as she and the guards rose from their bows.

"Leave!" the King growled at the two guards. "She won't run. Where would she go?" Francis shook his head in disgust. He waited until the guards left and his nose curled in disgust as the dishevelled Queen Mother of France waited for judgement.

"Francis, please, listen to-" Catherine started, but Francis didn't give her the luxury of talking.

"Don't speak." he spat, getting up from his chair. He walked with swift purpose to his carrier. I've always thought, the one redeeming quality about you was your love for your family." he began

"Your children were never harmed." Catherine tried. "Mary was never harmed." she said, as if it made it better.

"You sent armed men with swords drawn to take them by force. They could have been killed easily. But that means nothing to you. Family means nothing to you, except a means to an end." he paced angrily. "If you had birthed peasants instead of kings, and someone offered you a monarchy, if only you were free of us, - you'd slit our throats in an instant." he spat. Mary breathed deep in her throne, placing a hand upon her baby bump. She'd seen him far angrier than this in the past, but this anger was different to all the others.

"That is not true." Catherine begged. "You are my son, my life-" Catherine reached out to touch, but her eldest son backed away.

"And now you mean nothing to me." Catherine's lips parted. Francis continued on. "Not a mother, certainly not a queen mother, as I strip you of your title, your income and your home." he turned his back on his mother and walked to his family. He turned and sat upon her throne.

"You will forgive me, I command it." Catherine suddenly stomped up to her son, up the three stairs to the thrones. Francis laughed in anger.

"You command nothing." he replied darkly. "The only taste of power you have had is through marriage, a false Queen in every scene of the word." he hissed. "And now it's gone, you have no throne and have dissolved any measure of protection I may have given you. No power, no throne. You command nothing." he repeated.

"I am your mother!" Catherine leaned down to her son.

"Yes, and I am the King!" Francis yelled, getting into his mother's face.

"You will! Catherine shoved her fist into Francis' face. His lips parted and he snickered in angry laughter.

"Please, Francis. Please, you-you're my son. You can't do this to me. You can't do this." Catherine reverted a little, but still kept close.

They started growling at each other, talking over each other so much that Mary couldn't understand what they were actually saying, before Francis stood and pushed his mother away.

"I beg you! I beg you!" Catherine walked backwards onto the floor and even got onto her knees. Mary blinked in surprise. "I will beg you." Catherine lay upon the floor. Francis stood up again. "I beg you! I beg you! I beg of you! Please, I beg of you!"

He replied, but not to her. But to his wife.

"Mary," his voice wasn't angry at all. "take the children to our chambers, please."

The Queen of France and Empress of the United Kingdom of Great Britain obeyed quickly, picking up the younger duo and holding the hand of Lucien. Jean and James walked with them. Francis watched them leave with his mother. And he watched as the one thing he was waiting for before left with them.

He smiled at his mother.

"You are quite the actress." he smiled. Catherine grinned as she stood from the floor, her son helping her to her feet. Catherine smiled gratefully at him, enjoying the fact that he was a gentleman and not the vicious brute his father was.

"And you, an actor." Catherine de Medici agreed. Francis smiled down at her. "What a blue dye test." she chuckled, straightening her gown and hair, adjusting her jewellery and placing a hand upon her throat to try and soothe it after her screams.

"Indeed." he agreed. "You could have left out my family dying, however." but he said it with a small smile. Catherine shrugged one shoulder. She brushed off Francis' shoulders, cleaning them from an invisible dirt. Like she had on the morning of Count Vincent's visit, Catherine fixed her son's hair.

"It made for a more believable story. I am Catherine de Medici, the world doesn't think I am above murdering my daughter in law and grandchildren." she rolled her eyes. "I'd never harm them, Francis."

"I know, I know." he agreed. "I'm trusting you to keep an eye of the results? Get your whores and Mary's and Greer's to work together to see who is the spy?" he asked.

"Of course." Catherine agreed. "Go to your wife and children. Assure them that it is safe and that we were just pretending. I don't think the children understood."

"Probably not." he said. "See me later, tell me of what you've discovered."

"I will."

"I should have been with you," Francis said as he walked into the chambers he shared with his wife and the ones which she now sat in with her children.

"Papa!" Anne, James, John and Lucien got up to greet him. They hugged his legs.

"Today we had a man try to kill us," John said, as if his father didn't know what had happened.

"No, they did not!" James interjected. "Mama protected us!"

"She did, but I should have been the one to protect you all." Francis took them all into his arms and placed them onto a nearby settee.

"Now, you must know what happened today,"

"We do. A bad man tried to harm us and mama." Anne informed her father helpfully.

"A bad man did come close, yes, but it was a trick. To see who was going to tell somebody what happened. You were always going to be safe. Grandmere and I planned it all."

"So, grandmere was pretending?"

"Yes, somebody has been watching us for a few days, so we pretended something happened in front of them to learn who it was." he said. "I promise, grandmere didn't do anything to harm you. She wouldn't do anything to harm any of you, or your mother or I."

"Will anything happen to her now?"

"No, James. Nothing will happen to her." Francis replied. "Just know that you've always been safe today. It was all a trick to help our countries identify our enemy."

"So, grandmere is good?"

"She is, Anne."

"So it was like a play?" John asked.

"Yes, son. Just like that. A play. Pretend."

"Okay," Lucien jumped down. "Come play with us, papa! Come play with our new toy Uncail Robert got for us!"


	38. Chapter 38

"We are gathered here today with these persons here present to witness the execution of Eduardo de la Cruz. The crime of this man is accounted due to the betrayal of the Franco-Romanian alliance and his act of espionage is a direct violation of the alliance of thirteen seventy four. Let this be a lesson to all, that King Francis will not tolerate any acts of betrayal regarding his alliances and any who attempt to poison the fruit of friendship sewn into his reign will fall. And the King of Romania will not tolerate any negative developments in this alliance with the King in which he prizes so dear." Sebastian read from the rolled scribe in his hands. The King's deputy spoke loudly and clearly on the podium in which his brother and King sat upon.

The execution of the proven traitor to France and Romania was to be held in an open courtyard, nobility members from all over court and France being present to witness the killing that had been approven by the King of Romania.

In his credit, the former ambassador turned spy to his huffy King, didn't wail or sob upon the execution block. Not like one of the long dead Spanish ambassadors just before the announcement of Mary's pregnancy with Lucien. The Spaniard had sobbed in fear and begged for his life, for forgiveness and for mercy. Not that the Queen had been merciful, of course.

The lone King sat with a set jaw as he watched the Romanian stand silently, his hands bound behind his back as the executioner slowly gripped the back of his neck and brought him to the block.

He looked like a martyr condemning his condemners, rather than the proven traitor and spy that he had been proven to be. He had been the one to try and tell the Romanian King of the Queen mothers 'actions' and now he was to be brought to justice for his betrayal. The King had tried to use it to his advantage -although most of the information never made it out of court, let alone the country- in his attempt of the engagement of his son and little Princess Anne, but it proved fruitless.

The spy gave the executioner that had quite the resume after the last few months a harsh glare as he was forced to kneel. He spoke clearly to the crowd of nobility and the King he betrayed.

"I have committed no sin in the eyes of the almighty lord." he announced. He leaned forward, almost willingly. The black leather covered executioner looked to his King and Emperor. Francis silently gave the nod.

The axe rose. And then the axe fell.

"Mama, mama, look at me, mama!" young Princess Anne chirped as she twirled along the dance floor. Her black lace and silver skirts bloomed like a flower as she tried to follow her eldest brothers' and future sister-in-law's dance moves, now that they had started their dance lessons. Looking up from her youngest that rested upon her lap, his arms wrapped around and head resting upon the sizeable bump that rested underneath her purple chiffon ball gown embroidered with soft little flowers.

Mary brushed an errant curl from her face, subconsciously fixing the long braid that hung over one shoulder, also sparsely embellished with flowers. She smiled at her only daughter, placing her spare hand upon the growing baby -babies?- that grew inside her.

"Well done, Anne!" Mary clapped as her little girl laughed and spun around, ignoring professor de Maine's instructions to James and Anna and focused upon her own routine to the soft music playing. Lucien walked over towards his sister from his perch in the corner with a book, and the young Prince and Princess started to imitate the little routine which seemed to be vaguely similar to the Volta.

The Queen of France and Empress of Britain smiled at the scene, holding her sweet and sensitive boy closer as he nuzzled close. She felt little Prince Francis' smile as a growing foot jabbed out, and the pat that he gave in response. She was so terribly excited for this pregnancy. It was different than any of the others. So welcome and so wanted.

With James, the excitement of it was dampened a little with the absence of his father and the almost constant struggles she felt before the attack on it by French protestants. For a time, they were sure she had lost him. But her boy was here, strong and safe and dancing with the little girl whom he had already became rather fond and protective of.

With Lucien, it was a conflicting pregnancy. She didn't want a child so precious to be created by a night of drunken lust. Things with she and Francis were almost over at that point, and her sweet boy had been one of the major aspects of bringing them back together. It had been after the alleged death of the King, as well, making her think she'd never again bare a child. Or if she did, it would be a child of a man she hated. But Lucien had sped things along nicely.

Anne and Francis' conception and subsequent births were far more complex than their brothers'. She and her husband were on the battlefield at the time, at each other's sides and guarding each other's backs. It hadn't been intentional, Mary wanted to fight with her husband to protect her country from their enemy and the armada that had finally stood down. It damn sure hadn't been planned. They hadn't talked of more children at that time. Both knew they wanted more children. By law, they had to. But neither imagined it to happen that soon.

This pregnancy was different. Apart from a couple scuffles that weren't out of the ordinary, their countries were at peace and they were happy. Lola was gone and Catherine was on their side. The Bourbon threat was gone and the Spanish were now their allies. Apart from a few odd days of scuffles that were to be expected, Jean played nice with the children he still distrusted, but had learned to get along with. This pregnancy had been the one that they had planned -not counting James'- and the one they had pined for above almost anything else. It would settle them and the birth of not one, but two newborn Princes or Princesses or one of each, would bring their family closer than ever.

"Look, mama!" Anne giggled. Mary looked up from her blue eyed, blonde haired baby boy and turned to her daughter. She and Lucien were playing an Argentine Tango to the increased beat that the musicians played for the elder royal children to preform one of their own. Well, a part of it. It just resembled a few spins and pulls. The little girl had been enamoured with the dance ever since her parents had preformed it just before they knew of the babies inside her womb. It was a rare occasion that she and her brothers were allowed to attend a ball for an extended period of time, and when the candles gleamed dim and the sensual glow of the fires turned the ballroom of the French Court into a sensual crimson, the young King and Queen danced in front of their court, their solidarity and union unmistakable to all who observed them.

"Very good, my dear." Mary smiled at her only daughter, hoping to have another someday. But not this time around. She could feel that there were two baby boys inside of her. Maybe someday, another little girl for Francis to dote upon and to wrap him around her finger. For now, Mary would be ecstatic of the sons she grew and the ones she could hold in her arms.

Queen Catherine de Medici sat in an overstuffed chair, watching her grown baby boy rule upon his court. It was a privy council meeting she was observing today, as she usually did. The Queen mother of France wore her regnal reds and and cool toned bronzes as she observed the King in dark green work and bicker with her sombrely coated former subjects.

But the King -although accompanied by the French privy council- was not alone where he stood. No, in his arms was the small Princess Anne. Donned in purple chiffon and white fur, the little Princess had her arms wrapped around her fathers' neck and her small head upon his chest. She listened to his heart beat slowly, settled against his hip as he supported her lower back in one arm. Long black curls were bunched against her father's doublet as she rested her weary head upon him.

Catherine watched with a small smile -the words of the King and Privy Council nothing but murmurs as she focused on her eldest granddaughter. The chubbiness of her cheeks and the plumpness of her lips as she slowly fell into a slumber in her father's arms. As much as the young child adored her mother, and believe her, she did, let it be known that Princess Anne Marie Catherine Isabella of the house of Stuart-Valois-Angouleme was a daddy's girl, through and through. Although the King was holding her, it was Anne who held her father around her little finger. And they both knew it, too.

Catherine smiled at her son as he slowly started to sway from side to side. The little girl had been exhausted from her playing dance with Lucien, so after she changed for luncheon and ate, she begged off staying with her resting mother and youngest brothers and insisted on seeing her father. But the child was still a child. And she needed her afternoon rest as much as Lucien and Prince Francis did.

Feeling Anne curl tighter in his embrace, Francis rocked her slowly from side to side, soothing her the same way he had done when she was a newborn and refused to take rest, just like she did now. Catherine watched from behind them both as the Princess slowly relaxed in her father's arms, her head falling from his chest to the crook of his neck, limp and soothed. Small breaths brushed past her father's neck and he smiled softly down at his only daughter.

Catherine returned the smile as she was handed the sleeping little girl by her father, who focused all of his energy into the dull privy council meeting, nodding to his mother as she told him she was taking the child to her chambers to rest.

_Three days. Three days of completely avoiding her husband at all costs and spending every waking moment with her advisers was all that it took for her subject to appear. And what an enterance he made. Just as Francis and Lola danced, their child in between them, a sharp point pushed against her spine, a body directly behind you._

_"You called for me, majesty," he spat into her ear. Mary stiffened._

_"I did." she said, as cold as ice._

_"Outside, or your life will be in my hands." she squared her shoulders and raised her chin, walking out to the corridor with Knox at her tail._

_"I wondered when I'd be seeing you, John Knox." Mary addressed the man in black. They leaned against the wall, glaring at each other._

_"You sent for me, and I see why." he glared. "Tell me why you sent for me, Mary."_

_"To benefit you, as well as me." she said._

_"Do explain, my queen." he mocked. She glared at him further._

_"It's obvious what my husband has done."_

_"Create a bastard with your lady in waiting? Claim him and humiliate you? Yes, quite obvious. He doesn't know what danger he's put you in, does he?"_

_"No, he doesn't." Mary said, casually. "And he never will. Because you're going to keep quiet."_

_"And why would i do that? You can't kill me, my followers would be quick to blame you and remove you from the throne. Why would i pass the opportunity, to rid myself and Scotland of you? Tell me, Mary."_

_"The correct form of address is your majesty," Mary hissed. "Because, you and I are going to get what we want. You're going to keep quiet, and I'm going to remain on my throne."_

_"And how is that me getting what I want?"_

_"Because, if you agree, give me your word that the business about Francis' bastard child will remain away from your mouth, in paper and in vocal form, you'll get lands and a title, money and power. In return, I remain on my throne, and nobody will be none-the-wiser."_

_"It's an unexpected offer, but I'd rather see you humiliated and thrown from your throne, than take that. When you're gone, Scotland will become the first true democracy, and you will fall. I will rise. Thank you for your offer, but it is denied, my queen," he gave an over-preformed bow, starting to turn._

_"Guards!" Mary yelled, before he was restrained. She could hear some guests start to come over to where they were after hearing her yell, but kept her eyes on Knox. "Take him to the dungeon. He and his queen haven't reached a deal yet."_

_"You can't do this! My followers will hear of this!" he yelled, being dragged away._

_"No, they won't." Mary said, knowing full well Francis and Bash had appeared behind her, from the party, and the fact that Knox could still hear her. "Because they'll never find you." she said, starting to follow them. She felt eyes burning into her back, but ignored them, walking to the dungeon, finding Knox on the ground, seething._

_"You think this will help you?" he hissed. "This will destroy you, when i'm free."_

_"Knox, what makes you think you'll be let go until I attain what i want?" Mary chuckled. "You see, you're in France now. Not the land of our birth. But I hold power here. You have no power here. You are my subject and will do as I say." she walked over and leaned down to his height, looking him straight in the eye. "Or, you can defy me. And I will watch you burn after I charge you and find you guilty of whatever i damn well please." she spat. He glared back at her. "You have much to think of and consider, Knox." she stood tall and walked away to the door, turning back. "Sleep well, John."_

Mary inhaled slowly, opening her eyes to the dim light of the late afternoon French sun. Pregnancy held a habit of making her have odd dreams, and this one was no different. Whilst it wasn't exactly how it had gone in the past, the dream still held credibility in her mind.

A murmur at her side awoke her. The Queen of France looked over and saw young Prince Francis laying awake at her side, big blue eyes bright and awake, little hands and feet stretching out to her. Her made noises of recognition, eagerly smiling his gummy smile at her.

"Mama," he babbled. It didn't really sound like it, but it was adorable nonetheless.

"My sweet boy." Mary smiled at him, taking her youngest into her arms, watching him squirm in her arms, gripping her bodice in his hands, asking for some milk from her breast.

"Alright, alright," the young beauty chucked, undoing the ties and letting her boy's main source of nourishment loose. Many had weaned their children by now, but Mary and Francis loved the bonding time they both held when he sucked from her.

She looked up as the door opened and in came Lucien, James and Anne, walking in front of Francis. Anne's eyes were red and puffy, and Francis and James looked rather angry.

"What is it?" she asked. "What's happened?"

"Jean thought it would be a good idea to pull at his sisters hair as she was sleeping." Francis grumbled, helping the younger duo onto the bed as James settled himself at the side. Mary bit back that twang of pain whenever Francis referred to his eldest as her children's brother. But she needn't worry over a thing. She had her heir and the spare and another son that belonged to she and Francis, and a daughter and two more babies on the way. Why should she worry over a motherless bastard who usually held a few days of anger towards his legitimate half siblings every few weeks? It was just a childish phase that he knew he had to grow out of soon, now that her eldest was getting older and understood more and more things.

"I stopped him, mama." Lucien chirped. "And James hit him for being so mean."

Mary looked over at her eldest, who had clearly inherited his father's flare when he was angry.

"He was hurting her," James shrugged. "I'm not sorry for it."

"You know how your brother gets sometimes," Francis included. "although I am proud of you for protecting your sister." he touched his heir's black curls. James smiled at his father, secure in his love and no longer fearing abandonment as much as he did at Lucien's age.

"And me, papa!" Lucien, their mixture of them both with Mary's younger, sweet, wild spirit. "And me!" he jumped in front of the King of France. "I helped Annie, too!"

"You did." Francis agreed, watching his namesake unlatch and latch on to the other side. Anne watched, mesmerised. "And I'm very proud of you for helping her." he ruffled his blonde curls. Lucien made a small noise and his mother reciprocated it.

"When are the babies going to come, mama?" Anne asked, patting her mother's rather swollen belly. "Soon?"

"Very soon, sweet girl. I promise."

"What are you reading, my sweet love?" The heavily pregnant Empress asked, walking over to her eldest born son and settling herself at his side as he read from a heavy book, stood on a golden stand and resting on it's sides, the front of it resembling an eagle in flight. James fell back to his heels after standing so long on his top toes. He looked at his mother, beautiful and pregnant and vibrant in her fruitfulness and youth. Mary looked down at him, fixing his long black curls before the dark blue satin doublet trimmed with intricate gold thread he wore.

She glances at the great book, open to a recent addition to its pages of knowledge.

"The entries of the last two months, mama. Anna says she keeps a journal, and this is yours. Is she true, mama?"

"Kind of, this is the Empire's journal, all of your father and I's countries." Mary reflected, flicking through the pages absentmindedly. A few about the quick eradication of a plague to the east of France, a number of great battles and a few she herself had fought in. The wars Henry had fought and all the money Catherine had to pay out for killing the wrong person and paying the families' silence.

"It said Lola, mama." James fought back to the page he had been reading. And there, indeed it did. Lola's execution date, time, last recorded words, the method and her crimes. Mary ran her long nails over the intricate quilled ink, the cursive beautiful and sad all at the same time. She smiled sadly. "Lola Fleming, that was Jean's mother, yes?"

"She was." The raven haired young woman said, nodding softly. "But she did too many bad things that it made it impossible to forgive any longer." she replied, trying to be as honest as possible to her child.

"You got your revenge, mama." James smiled at her. She saw the sparkle in his eye that could only be described as Scottish, who had been famed for their joy at the English's suffering over the years, before Elizabeth's death and Mary's English rule.

"I wouldn't call it revenge, but it could be perceived as such. She made many bad choices, and they had to be atoned." the mother replied softly. "But I cannot say it wasn't somewhat satisfying." she smirked. No matter how much she wanted to move past the hatred and disgust she felt in her younger years, part of it was always going to be there.

"I never liked her." James revealed. "She dressed sillily and her teeth were rather large and made you and Papa upset. Not to mention Jean." Mary noted that he borderline spat the name out.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't like Jean." The Dauphin wined.

"Why not?" Mary cocked her head to the side. "Haven't you been getting on better since the babies were in my stomach?" she asked, placing one hand upon her womb and using the other to fix his unruly hair. It was even more unruly than his fathers'.

"He irritates me!" James wined again. "And he keeps trying to pull Anne's hair when she sleeps and he disrupts Governess de Bois in his and Francis' lessons. And he-" James was interrupted by the entrance of his father, that same expression upon his face as he had when Mary planned to tell him about his mothers' unconventional methods of conception a couple months after the wedding.

"What's this?" he asked, walking over to his wife and eldest legitimate son and plucking the young child up from the place upon the floor and into his arms. James let him, wrapping his arms around Emperor Francis' neck and looking deep into his fathers' eyes. Mary silently noted how similar the two looked. He may resemble her in the more noticeable scene, but his expressions were all Francis.

"When is Jean going to visit the Dowager Baroness of Velay, Papa?" he asked.

"You wish for your brother to be gone?"

"He isn't my brother," James glared. Francis blinked in surprise, before he relaxed. It wasn't anything unusual. James and John always hated acknowledging their biological connection. They were simply two different people with two different ideas of how to view the world. "And he's irritating my brother Francis in their lessons."

"Not the baby," Mary jutted in. The Emperor looked over in slight confusion. "My brothers' son." she clarified. There are far too many with the name Francis, she silently acknowledged.

"Ah," he nodded, understanding. The two bastard born boys were similar in age and took lessons together, and the little lord was far smarter than what his age permitted. "What would you like me to do about it?" he asked his son.

"Send him to Velay," James shrugged. "He irritates my siblings and I and I don't like him." he said again.

"I'll see what I can do, son." Francis put his son down. "Go find Anna, she must be looking for you by now." he said. James nodded and lowered his head to his parents -Catherine's relentless rants about respecting the King and Queen that she gave all the Princes and Princess showing through- before scurrying off.

When he heard the door close, Francis looked towards his wife. He took steps towards her, taking her hands and looking at the growing bump underneath the pretty dress.

"How are you feeling? Are they active?" he asked.

"Alright," Mary smiled up at her husband. "They're not much trouble, I think they're sleeping," he nodded and placed a hand to her growing abdomen.

"Two more," he smiled wistfully. But Mary could see the worry in his eyes.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing, I just-"

"Just nothing," she shook her head. "Tell me." Mary demanded honesty to him as he always did to her.

"The birth isn't that far away." he noted. Mary nodded. "What if something happens to you or to them? I'm not sure I can bear it." he revealed.

"You think I'm going to die in childbirth?" she asked, not knowing why she was so surprised. Childbirth was a dangerous time for women. And twins made it more dangerous.

"No, I just worry-"

"You do." Mary smiled softly. "I understand." she cocked her head to the side, cold earrings touching her shoulder. "It is dangerous."

"Mary-"

"It's alright." she smiled softly. She always knew he worried for her in childbirth, for she knew that he knew full well that she suffered from childbirths even more bloody and longer than the usual scene. And his mother had nearly died giving birth to twins in her last round of childbearing. One was stillborn, the other was gone soon after. "I can't guarantee that nothing will happen, there are two of them this time, but I'll follow the midwives instructions to the letter and the rest we can only leave up to God."

"Grandmother!" Lucien smiled, leading the charge of little royal children as they scampered up to their grandmother, the only grandparent they would ever know. Catherine turned from overseeing a servent to the little children. She smiled fondly, kneeling down to catch them as they barrelled into her, nearly knocking her to the floor.

"Hello, my loves," she smiled, embracing the three littlest royal children close to her. Anne smiled up at her grandmother, before frowning as she started fiddling with her skirts.

"You mustn't mess up your skirts, Annie." Catherine insisted, pulling the green satin from right to left, flattening the crimps made by the little girl. "They're made of pure Indian silk." the Queen Mother of France tutted, fixing her granddaughters skirts as the little Princess rolled her eyes, every inch her mother. Catherine smiled fondly, plucking young Francis up from the floor, kissing his head as the little boy squealed in surprise.

"Where's your brother?" she asked.

"He's playing outside with Anna," Lucien supplied. "They're with the puppies Anna's papa sent from Denmark."

"How lovely," she nodded. "Why aren't you with your mama and papa?"

"Can't find them." Anne shrugged. "James saw them last night, but can't find them now." she said, her words a little misspoken, but she got her message across.

"How about I take you to find them? Grandmother is very busy planning the party."

"Party?" Anne asked. Her eyes sparkled as Claude's once did when a party was being planned. And Catherine couldn't help but feel an ache of pain when she thought of her daughter lost to childbirth complications, unable to help the pang of worry for her enemy turned ally turned enemy turned ally - over and over at least another dozen times- whom she had grown fond of in their latter years. Twin childbirth was even more dangerous than singleton.

"To welcome the King of Portugal." Catherine supplied, swallowing thickly, sending a silent prayer to God that he would spare the Queen of France and the new unborn additions to the royal family. For her son's sake and her grandchildren's sake, she quickly added, but God and she knew that wasn't the entire reason.

"My husband, too?" the Princess asked.

"Future husband," she added. "If everything goes well." Anne pouted and Catherine smiled at her son's daughter. "Come now, none of that. Let's go find your parents."

The Queen Mother and the Princes and Princess looked around the castle, trying to find King Francis and Queen Mary. Their bedchambers turned empty, they weren't present in their libraries or studies, they were only found in Francis' drawing room. But the fact the door was ajar and the tones of their voices were rather serious made Catherine turn from the oak door and towards the corridor once more.

"Put Papa's in there," Anne complained, moaning out the words as her grandmother turned her around. "Why can't we go in, grandmere?"

"They're busy." Catherine tutted. "Come now, let's find you something delicious to eat and your governesses, shall we?"

Anne grumbled in defeat.

"What's wrong, my love?" Mary had spoken, coming into the dimmed drawing room to find her husband not working, but worrying, one hand pressed to his mouth as he stared aimlessly at the papers in front of him.

"Nothing, darling." he snapped out of his daze, pressing a hand to the arms wrapped around his neck from behind. One covered in black suede and silver embellishments, the other covered in black organza.

"Something," Mary amended. "Tell me, is it about the birth still?" she pressed a kiss to his head

"No, well, not entirely." he sighed in defeat, helping her circle him, pulling her onto his lap. Mary sighed in contentment, pressing her head to his shoulder and neck, breathing in deep his scent. Lemons, pine, freshly cut spring grass, cinnamon and honey.

Her quiet King placed a hand to the gown she wore, as if trying to tell out the life from inside her womb. In response, one of the babies kicked at his father's warm hand from underneath the black suede. He smiled faintly, stroking the soft material, muttering quietly in his mother tongue. Mary let him, deciding not to push for what was bothering her husband.

A pretty pair they made, wrapped in each other's arms. The pregnant Queen wore an intricate gown. It was made of black suede, figure hugging to show off the life growing inside. It was low cut with a sweetheart neckline, one arm covered in the suede and silver embellishments, her chest and other arm encased in sheer black organza, her bust bigger from simultaneous breastfeeding and pregnancy. A thick strip of the suede ran across her collar bones, sparkling in the fine silver, to the back of her neck. A mermaid cut gave the suede way to black fluffy skirts that trialled for a good four feet behind her. Raven hair was half up, wavy and long and shining, a thick diadem of diamonds in the most beautiful designs, chandelier earrings to match.

Her husband was dressed to match. A black tunic and leather slacks and knee high boots were combined with a black suede waistcoat and a velvet floor length trench coat. Black fur encased his shoulders and neck, silver embellishments upon his boots and a thick silver livery collar lay across his shoulders. Blonde curls were brushed out, long and thick, across his shoulders. A crown of silver and black gems were encased in the platinum sea that was so soft that Mary couldn't resist fiddling with it as she awaited her husbands' words.

"I think of my son." he started. Mary looked up at him from her position.

"Which one?"

"Jean."

"Why?"

"He shouldn't exist." Francis said after several moments. Mary frowned and pulled back. She looked deep into his eyes, searing for a response.

"What?" she frowned.

"He shouldn't exist."

"What do you mean?"

"I just wish I could go back in time, stop myself from being with Lola. She wouldn't have gotten pregnant, the issue with the plague never would have arisen, I would have been here for you and James, none of this mess would have happened."

Mary nodded softly. "Maybe he shouldn't exist." she agreed. "But he does, Francis. He does exist."

"I know, but the way he acts, he's not making it easy for James to accept him when I'm not here to protect him." he sighed. "I thought this foolishness would be long grown out of by now."

"Maybe this is who he is going to become. You can't grow out of who you are to become. If you keep them separated, James won't feel so angry towards him and vise versa. Visit him whenever you wish, but-"

"I know, I just-"

"There's no point in wishing. Yes, if you hadn't gotten Lola pregnant, she may be here today, but there's no point thinking in such ways. If I hadn't given into fear in the prophecy ordeal, you wouldn't have slept with her. If Nostradamus hadn't told Catherine of it, maybe we would have been married sooner and none of the mess in our first year together would have happened." she rambled. "We have to take responsibility for our actions. And none of them matter anymore. What's done is done and can't be changed. But what matters is that we're together and our rule is secure and our children are happy and healthy and here."

Francis looked at her for a long moment. "You're right. After the King of Portugal has left, Anne's marriage secure, Jean'll spend some time in Velay. After that, we'll await our new children and you're going to be okay."

"I am." Mary had to believe it.

"Should we get to the party?"

"You're the one that left first, my love." Mary joked, murmuring the words as his lips grew close to hers. Before they could touch, a loud scream made them jump and pull apart. Several seconds later, both could hear screaming and shouting and yelling. Several more, the Baron de Portiers shoved his way into the room.

"Brother, sister," he panted, eyes big and wide. "We have to get you and the children moved out of here."

"What?" Francis frowned, pushing Mary behind him as he walked towards his brother. "Sebastian, what's going on."

"It's returned, Francis. We have to go, now!" Bash gripped his brothers' wrist and went for his sisters, but his brother pulled it away.

"Sebastian, go where, you're not making any sense, man!"

"The plague, Francis. The plague has returned."


	39. Chapter 39

"Mama, what's happening?" Lucien cried as he clung to his mother's frame as they all were boarded up inside the royal chambers. The royal family and those they loved and trusted were boarded up inside the King and Queen's rooms. The torches were alight, the fires burning, herbs on the smoke all around the room that couldn't afford to get sick. "Why are we here? Why is grandmere crying? What's happening, mama?" he sobbed. Mary shushed her child.

"It's all going to be alright," she whispered, rocking him back and forth. Nobody was spread around the room, they were all huddled up inside the large chambers, mainly around the bed. The children were confused and upset, the only person not to be included in the huddle was Catherine de Medici, who cried alone beside one of the windows. She only went to her eldest son's side, to hold him, before going back to the window. She'd been doing so for hours, ever since the threat of plague had been announced the night before at the party, when the Italian Ambassador had fallen ill.

But they had all heard the music, over and over again. Many people were falling ill. And they could do nothing to protect them.

"What's happening, mama?" he whispered into her neck. The royal children, even James, were clinging to their parents even more frequently than usual. Anna and Jean were held in separate rooms, but everybody else was in this room. This hot, sweaty, fear filled room.

"People are getting sick, love." she whispered into his blonde curls. "But we're going to get through this." she said.

Mary only hoped she could keep that promise.

Yawning, the Queen of Scotland pulled her head up from the King's shoulder, slowly observing all around their surroundings. It was dark now, the candles lit and the fire burning. If possible, even quieter than the morning. She could hear the echoes of the infection melody and bit her lip in sympathy for the poor soul who would soon leave this world, before observing the inhabitants in the impressive room.

Bash and Kenna were awake, the former standing by the window where he could observe the grounds and the large lake. The latter sat with Meredith close to her, tending to the other children by brushing her youngest's dark curls back with a gentle caress, the eldest reluctantly fiddling with a rag doll. She noted that the Baron was upset, but like both he, his King and their father, he seemed to inflate with his fear. Eyes red with tears and cheeks dry, but his body bigger as if trying to protect those he loved from infection.

Leith sat upon one of the settees, his fair haired wife's head in his lap as she slept, large bump extending out from underneath the blue lace gown she had been wearing for quite a while. Their litter, both biological and step, sat upon a rug cuddled together with small trinkets upon the salmon blush fabric. They -too- were quiet, but didn't seem to understand what was happening. None of the children really did, but they were still affected by the tension and fear present in the room.

Mary sat fully up, gaining her own husbands' attention. He looked her over quickly, as if checking her body for infection, before turning back to his youngest children who slept in his lap. Prince Francis sucked his thumb as he slept, little Princess Anne muttering in her slumber. They seemed peaceful enough, but Francis' posture was hunched, as if daring anybody to try and take his children from his arms. Mary took his hand, silently assuring him of her own and the unborn children inside of her's health, looking over his side as she noticed arms wounding over his shoulders now she had awoken from her slumber upon the nearest one.

Wearing a regal purple velvet with gold silk lined bell sleeve gown, the Queen of France saw her predecessor and mother in law hold her favourite child close to her. Catherine's arms were wrapped around her favourite child's braud shoulders and she rested her cheek into his other shoulder. She seemed to be pouting as she held King Francis close to her. Mary let go of his hand and he leaned his head onto his mothers', in a silent moment of solidarity and comfort from three generations of the Medici in one.

Not wanting to get up for the substantial weight upon her abdomen, Mary looked over her other side, seeing her own eldest son sitting on the bed with her. A good few feet away and with his back to the wall, but close nonetheless. His knees were pulled to his chest and he looked intently at his signet ring recently gifted to him on his last birthday, now that it could fit and not slide off within several moments.

Her second born son was sleeping upon some light blue satin pillows. Cheeks chubby and perfectly serene, Mary smiled softly at the scene. Again when she saw James holding Lucien's hand as he slept. For a measure of comfort to his little brother just as much as one to himself, no doubt. As much as the Dauphin looked like her, he truly was his fathers' son.

"What are we going to do?" Sebastian broke the silence, silence could even be the operative word, considering the sound of the crackling of the fireplaces and the hooting from owls outside, the soft cries of the dying and the bereft and the gloomy melody of the musicians every time someone was struck with plague. Mary saw her husband look at his brother, and said nothing until he did.

"What can we do, brother?" he questioned quietly, far from the confident boom he had used not that many days ago. "All we can do is wait."

_"Come, Francis! Come!" the little Queen of Scotland giggled, serene and content in white and lilac chiffon as it billowed behind her as she drug her pretty little Dauphin with her._

_"Where are we going?" he smiled, going willingly as his grip on her thin, long fingers tightened. He provided no resistance to her._

_"I've just had the best idea, come!" she smiled, flashing her pretty smile at him as the future King and Queen of France ran through the hallways of King Henry's court._

_They ended up in the rose field that had just bloomed for the summer, a much needed relief from the bitter cold both had been subject to not that long ago, when the King wanted to go see his mistress in the Alps in the east and party with her and other nobles dragged through the cold._

_The little children ended up playing in the field of crimson, not caring at all when the stems prickled their little fingers and turned them in their own right of crimson. Flower petals were tossed in the air and floated down, gentler than the soft kiss of snow, ending up in their long hair as they laughed in serene joy._

_When they had stood from the bed of rose petals they had been making snow angels inside, Prince Francis turned to his lovely, adventurous companion and looked at her. Really, really looked at her, back lit from the slowly setting sun. He had always acknowledged her pretty, but as the eight year old took in the sparkle in her pretty golden eyes, the curl of her hair in the darkest raven colour, the flush in her cheeks and the scarlet rose petals in her hair, he realised how truly beautiful she really was._

_And as she took him in in her own right, all golden curls and beautiful blue eyes, the little Queen Mary realised the same._

King Francis awoke slowly, exhaling from his nose, letting his eyes flutter open in the early morning sun. He rolled his neck, hearing the cracks, and sighed in satisfaction, slowly sitting up. The King looked from right to left. Everybody was still sleeping.

"What were you dreaming about?" a voice said.

Startled, he jumped. "Son of a-" he mumbled, swallowing thickly, observing his mother sitting with her legs curled up behind her, eating from a strawberry tart. She seemed as smug, pompous and royal as ever, but the look in her eyes told him that his mother was actually afraid of the plague. Perhaps not loosing her own life to the disease -she had never been afraid to loose her life after his birth-, but for him or one of his own children to loose theirs. "What?" he decided.

"You were talking in your sleep, what were you dreaming about?" she glanced at him, feigning uninterested, but he knew better than her facade. He took her in, still in the gown she had worn ever since the plague had been announced and apart from her copper curls messy and bed woven, she looked the same as the night before.

"My childhood with Mary." he revealed. Catherine nodded. "It was a simpler time."

"Indeed it was," she nodded. "You were so happy with her." she was quiet for several moments, seeming to be deciding what she was going to say. Francis waited patiently for her to speak. "I knew you loved her, even then." she nodded. He took in the swallow in her voice, remembering how she hated the fact he loved a woman -at the time, a girl- more than he loved her. She even hated it now. "Your father even noticed, and we both know how present he was in your lives." she revealed. He nodded slowly, never really knowing how to feel about his father.

"He wasn't the most present parent, but we knew you loved us, even if he didn't." he sat up, untangling himself from little arms and going over to his mother.

She chuckled, making him frown. "What?"

"Nothing," she mumbled, unable to help seeing him in her poisoned hallucinations, unable to remember the things he had said about how much he loved her and the children.

But Francis never knew about that. She thought he was dead with his father at that point. The entire country did.

"Are you feeling alright?" she said, pressing her hands to his face, neck, brow. At that point, the confusion on his pretty, handsome face turned to annoyance.

"Mother," he nearly wined, pulling her away by the wrists. "I feel fine," he insisted. Although the worry was at times irritating, he knew she must have been remembering the time the first plague was in France and his foolish actions that changed the course of their lives.

So did she, he thought, turning to look at Mary's sleeping form, surrounded by all of their children, one hand upon the growing bump she sported, the same bump that housed and grew two more children at least. But she didn't share with him that particular worry.

He'd never forgive himself for running off that day, all those years ago. It changed so much and could have cost Mary, or himself, their lives. Only God knew how they had managed to get past that horrid time brought about by foolishness and sentimentality.

"I'm glad." the Queen Mother breathed, bringing the King's attention back to her. She saw the worry in her son's eyes and tutted, reaching over to cup his cheek. "We're going to make it through this, Francis."

"I hope so, mother."

_"Now, why would I want the filth of the blood of the French?" he grinned. "Or that of an Italian whore who is so conceited, so convinced she is royalty just because of her sham of a marriage, that she doesn't realise you are the most superior person in the entirety of the French court? The King believes it, too. So little respect for the little girl who brings the promise of empire. Why would you align yourself with them?" he said, staring into the young queen's eyes._

_"The marriage and who I am aligned with was and are out of my control," Mary grit her teeth, still trying to get out of the grasp of her captor. "If it's me you want, if I am so superior, then why bring them?" she asked._

_"Collateral damage." he grinned. "It's unlikely they would do anything if their future Queen just disappeared," he clicked his fingers. "due to the treatment that you've received."_

_"What are you talking about?"_

_"Her Majesty," the man spat out Catherine's title. "told your beloved betrothed that he was the heir of one of the most powerful countries in the world, whilst you were below him in every way possible. That your country was weak, so weak that she failed to acknowledge you as the heir of the most sought after throne in the world. That you bring the promise of empire. That, unbeknown to her, most likely, that the sham of a marriage that you are forced into, that France will benefit more than Scotland, from your marriage. That they will attain so much more from the auld alliance than Scotland will. That she has brainwashed the country to think that your marriage will be a burden on him and on his country. Why would you align yourself with somebody like that?"_

_"I'll admit, more often than not, the French King and Queen are disrespectful to me and my country, you are correct in that aspect. And many others. France will benefit far more than Scotland, no matter what they have been told, nor what they believe. However, that does not give you the right to kidnap them and me, just because you don't like the marriage that I have been forced into." Mary grit her teeth._

_"End the alliance, benefit Scotland, let France see what they've lost, when you take your rightful place as Queen. And, you'll have your freedom."_

_"Ridiculous terms." Mary looked into his eyes, she wasn't afraid, she simply couldn't be. "You know fine well that should the support be taken away that the English will attack in full force and spill mine and every Scot's blood. How could I be their queen if I'm dead?"_

_"Why would I kidnap the French King and French heir and the Italian to hurt them? Why would I spill their blood? Why would I do that, when yours is so much more legitimate, so much more superior?" he roughly grabbed her right wrist and brought a forearm up to his face, trailing his fingers along the veins._

_"Stuart and Tudor blood run through these veins. English and Scottish. Irish and Welsh. Powerful blood. Gaelic and Celtic blood. Imperial blood. Far more superior blood than that of the French and the Italian whore, why would it's holder sacrifice the greatest political move she has for those who do not acknowledge your power, simply because of your age and location?"_

_Mary had no response. He was getting into her head. Eventually, an alliance without France would benefit her country so much more than if they were tied together by marriage or an heir. All they really needed was a little support until the inevitable time where they'd scream for her to be their queen. All she could really do was let out small noises of struggle as she fought to free her arm._

_"Such sweet blood." the madman produced a dagger and looked into her eyes as he slowly inserted it into the pale skin. Mary bit her lip, preventing the wail leaving her throat as he slowly moved the dagger down, her blood instantly starting to squirt from her body like a fountain. He'd ripped through something important, Mary was sure. She immediately started to get light headed from the loss of blood._

_"No! No! Stop!" she heard Catherine scream._

_"Such luscious blood." the madman smirked, covering his hands in the young girls' blood, covering his lips in the crimson substance, before giving a nod to the captors. They threw her to the floor roughly, her head banging on the stone floor. She managed a whimper, barely managing to remember that she needed to stop the blood loss before she died, wrapping it tightly against her waist, before the entire world turned black. _

Mary awoke with a start, shooting up in bed. She looked over at Francis, noting he was awake. But something seemed to be wrong.

"Francis." she whispered, reaching over to him. But something told her not to touch him. Something didn't seem right.

"Mary," he whispered, weakly. He was so pale, pale and sweaty. Mary's heart began to race. No. No. "I-I don't feel so well. I think I have a fever."

Mary's eyes widened, her heart started thumping and fear began to overtake her as she saw Francis begin coughing.


	40. Chapter 40

"Would you like me to sing you another song, my love?" Mary whispered into the wall she had her back to and had been singing to for the past few hours. Her voice had been choked with tears, but even in this state of illness and unease, Francis had been gallant enough to not point it out. They were in different rooms, now. Mary was hidden away by a thickened wall, in a small closet conjoined to the royal bedchambers. Her husband, King and Emperor sat behind the other side of the same wall, sickened and dying.

"I-" he began, after long moments of silence, each one slowly tearing at Mary's heart. It had been days now, almost a week, since he had became stricken with plague. It was more or less past now. Court was slowly emerging from her bedchambers to wearily explore the awakening hallways, a horrid silence like a plague of it's own around the royal court of France. "I need to ask you something."

Mary's lower lip trembled and she nodded, trailing her fingertips down the wall where she she sat with her side propped up against, swearing she could feel the heat from his own body through the three and a half feet thick walls. She sniffled, wiping her cheeks as her head lay upon the wall, begging him to allow her to hear his voice once more.

"W-was I a good husband?" he seemed so unsure and afraid at that point. Mary's heart broke even more and she placed a hand upon her growing bump where his unborn children grew inside her womb. The two babies who will probably never know their father, just like she never knew her own.

His voice broke her revere.

"Everything I did to you, all the bad things. Am I a good husband? Or was," he breathed. Mary sniffled.

"A good husband?" she repeated, not knowing why he was so unsure about it. Sure, the first few years were tumultuous, but he had proved his worth tenfold ever since their second son and child's birth. She loved him. She loved him so much. And she was going to loose him. "My darling, you were the best husband I could have ever asked for." Mary promised him, leaning her head upon the cold wall. "I love you so much, I always will. You made me so happy, you gave me the best years of my life. You gave me our children and I will be forever grateful." she sniffled. "Don't leave me."

She heard his thick swallow and her heart ached more. They didn't have much time left. "I-I wish-"

"Please," she begged. "You must save your strength."

"No, Mary. We don't have much time left," she felt the warmth move, and felt her hand raise to follow it. "I don't want anything to be left unspoken between us." she shook her head, choking on yet another cry.

"I can't do this without you," she prophesied. "I can't rule without you, I can't raise the children without you. I can't live without you. Please, don't-"

This time, it was he who interrupted her.

"Yes, you can." he insisted. "You are so strong, Mary. So strong." he breathed. "You did it once before, now do it again."

"It wasn't real that time," she moaned. "You were in Italy, alive and breathing. But now you won't be." she sniffled, despising to acknowledge his mortality.

"I won't be in the land of the living, but I'll always be with you." he promised. Mary gulped. "In our empire, our children." he took a shuddering breath, seeming to be in tears as well. "I'll always be with you." he promised.

Mary could hear the heave in his breath and her heart ached to hear it. "I love you." she whispered.

"I love you, too."

Mary looked up as the door opened and there stood Baron Sebastian de Portiers, depressed by grief yet standing through strength. He silently held out his hand to her.

"You have to go now." Francis breathed, seeming to have heard the door open and his half brother appear. "For the babies."

"I don't want to leave you." Mary begged from the floor.

"You have to." he insisted. "For the babies, you have to go into confinement, you have to protect them. Do it for me." he made her promise.

"I will," she sniffled. "I will." she promised.

"I love you, Mary." he whispered into the heated wind.

"I love you, too." she swore.

But the tears grew heavier as Francis de Valois, King Regnant of France, Emperor Consort of the United Kingdom of Great Britain grew steady and quiet. And spoke to her no more.

_"Mary," Francis breathed, reaching out a hand to her small figure. She seemed so small right now. Her hair was undone and dishevelled, her skin was paler than ever before. A white cotton nightgown hung upon her frame, but it seemed too big. And she seemed too small. A sheen of sweat clung to her skin and she slowly looked up, tears sliding down her cheeks, dying upon her lips._

_Why did she look so sad?_

_"What is it?" Francis begged, coming in closer. "Tell me, please." he implored, reaching out a hand to grasp hers. She pulled the little palm and long fingers away from him, as if his touch burned her._

_"You abandoned me." she hissed, the sadness in her eyes turning into anger. Her words dripped with the most acidic venom, melting his skin and blood and bone away with the simple trifecta of words. His lips parted and he tried to grasp as his wife's hand, but she refused him once more. "You chose her over me." she cried out. "And you left me, alone. In the most dangerous situation of our lives, and you disappeared and left me alone." she whispered, the anger melting away, giving way to the deep sadness she felt in her heart._

_His own heart ached, and he said nothing._

_Mary's hands slowly travelled down from her lips to down below her stomach, stopping in the middle of her thighs. They came back bloody and his lips parted in reaponse as the crimson bloom grew and grew and grew until her body fell upon the bed limply and she reached out to him._

_He tried to move, to hold her, to comfort her, to tell her everything would be alright, but his body seemed to be frozen in place._

_"Help me." she pleaded._

_Helplessly, he could only stand there and watch her suffer. Watch her wither and cry out upon the bed as ladies and physicians gathered around her. The echo of the melody of the dying clanged into his mind as he watched his wife suffer, the power he held from his title admitting to nought as he watched, almost like a ghost, for nobody acknowledged him. Not even her._

_One by one, the physicians and the ladies funnelled out until they were left alone. She was in the bed. He stood where he did._

_She hissed at him, one more time._

_"I hate you. I hate you Francis Valois. And I love you with all of my heart. You killed my baby."_

Francis' eyes snapped open wide. He drew in a deep breath, snapping up inside the bed. A dozen people he loved were in his bedchambers. He felt new, invigorated, healthy, as he was tackled by his mother and smothered in her kisses as those who kept their distance breathed and laughed in relief and happiness that the King would live to fight another day.

When Catherine let her eldest son go, he looked over her shoulder and saw the love of his live standing close, one hand upon her bump where their children grew, the other on her chest. She smiled at him, tears sliding over her cheeks. He managed a cheeky grin at her, enjoying to see her so relieved.

"Francis," she whispered. "Oh, my God."

"Mary." he breathed as she came over and took his hand.

"You're alive." she breathed, smiling so wide it nearly hurt, but she didn't care and neither did he. "You came back to me."

"Now that's a sight I'll never tire of." King Francis of France smiled, coming into his bedchambers where his Queen lay. Looking up from writing in her journal, the Queen of France smiled at her golden haired husband as he came closer to her.

Shamelessly, Queen Mary Stuart lay in the bed, clothed only by a skirt of scarlet tulle covered in gold letting, lace, embroideries and rubies. She'd been bare to her husband what felt like millions of times, and the time for embarrassment was over several years ago. Hell, on their wedding tour, the Prince at the time had convinced her to walk around their chambers topless for his own manly enjoyment. However, as much as he enjoyed seeing his wife's bare flesh, there was a more practical reason for her state of undress.

Latched onto both breasts were their newest additions to their growing family. The Princes, Edward Alexander Charles and Henry Richard Louis of Valois-Anguleme-Stuart contently sucked upon their mothers' breast, one arm wrapped around them to keep them secure, the other newly wrapped around their fathers as he touched their backs, always eager for physical contact between himself and all of his children.

"I'll never tire of baring your children." Mary smiled up at him as he sat down near the three of them. "I just need a little time to rest before we can start trying again." she confirmed his silent question of if they would have another child. The birth had been the worst and most bloody of the lot, and they had been warned of keeping conception out of the question until the Queen was fully healed from her ordeal that damn near killed her.

Besides, Francis was eager for a few more daughters to have him wrapped around their fingers, and a few more sons to protect them.

The King lay down near them, enjoying the sight before him for several minutes, before his wife spoke again, breaking the comfortable silence.

"You know what I just realised," she said, looking down at him.

"What?" he asked, running his hand from one babe to the next, before settling on her stomach for quick intervals, still as fresh and undisturbed and imperfection-less as the first time he saw it just before their wedding day.

"England." was all she said. Francis looked up at her curiously.

"If you're going to tell me you've only just realised you rule upon the land, we've got a little bit of trouble upon our hands, don't you think, darling?" he joked. Mary smiled at him, cupping his cheek.

"Not that I rule over the land," she smiled. "But that you haven't been coronated." she said. Francis' brow rose. It was true. He had been granted the consort crown of Scotland just after Lucien's birth, the Irish just before Anne's, yet England was still vacant.

"Why do you bring it up?" he asked. "The people know I'm the King, and you are the Queen, it's not necessary, since I'm only the consort."

"It's not right, you should be granted all the pomp and pageantry as you gifted me after we won the war against Phillip." she said.

"If that's what you want, I will be glad to take my place beside you upon the English throne."

_So when the time came, the royal family were comfortably stationed upon English soil. The deed was to take place in Westminster Abbey, and almost five hundred people from all around the world were crammed into the seats to witness this new step in the new golden age of the empire, which would soon include France. That's why the King and Queen wore gold, in fact dripped in it, as they wore their white satin ensemble that matched, to show their unity in the off chance that a man, woman or child doubted their solidarity. Just before the doors were to be opened, the Queen of England stole a glance at her King. She held her orb and sceptre, wore her crown and livery collar, and just looked at the handsome man who would rule beside her for the rest of her live. It was a new begging of sort, where they held Catherine de Medici upon their side, and their litter grew and grew and would continue to grow and grow and prosper and spread. A new age of tolerance and acceptance would lead to a new world. A world where Lola wasn't an issue and neither was her son, where their family had married the loves of their lives and had children of their own to care and love together. They would remain united together. For united they were strong. It was anything unlike the first in France, where they were together but alone. It would be different this time._

_Because this time, they were going to do it right._


End file.
